synopsis. after two weeks of radio silence, katsuki finally confesses
contents. suggestive! angst with a happy ending. pro hero! katsuki bakugou x pro hero! fem! reader. canon compliant. mutual pining. friends to lovers. post-argument. bakugou is bad at feelings. first kisses and confessions. light on smut࿐
katsuki bakugou is angry. he’s holding two plaques made of polished metal and engraved with flowery script, playing nice with the heroes that dare to approach him, and all he wants to do is blow up the entire damn gala.
he wants to shred it all with his bare hands. the shimmering gowns, the flashing cameras, the ceaseless, vapid small talk. he wants to tear it all down and watch it burn. in part, because he hates attending these pointless glaze fests.
but the real reason, the epicenter of his explosive fury, is standing across the room, looking beautiful as always. you.
you haven’t spoken to him in two weeks. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours of suffocating silence. and here you are, bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, looking like you don’t have a care in the world. you’re holding a glass of deep red wine, the dark liquid swirling in the bowl of the glass as you listen, rapt, to every word that falls from shoto todoroki’s lips.
todoroki. icy-hot. of all fucking people.
anger is constantly simmering just beneath katsuki’s skin, a thrum he usually channels into his hero work. rage he so often uses to fuel his quirk. but tonight, his anger is personal. it’s a hot, sick feeling in his gut that coils tighter every time he hears your laugh — a sound he used to be able to coax out of you so easily — now echoing across the room because of someone else.
that half-and-half bastard. shoto fucking todoroki.
the plaques in his hand feel heavier than they should. ‘for exceptional valor and strategic brilliance in the neutralization of villains” and “for outstanding contributions to civilian safety” bullshit.
all he did was what he always does: find the bad guys and blow them the hell up. but the cameras keep flashing, and a portly man in a too-tight tux is slapping his back and telling him he’s a credit to the nation. katsuki bares his teeth in what he hopes passes for a smile.
his agent, a harried-looking woman with a clipboard, had drilled it into him: “smile, dynamight. look approachable. you’re a brand.”
a brand. right now, he feels like a malfunctioning appliance about to short-circuit and take out a whole power grid. his eyes keep drifting away from the sponsor, scanning the opulent ballroom. it’s a sea of shimmering gowns and dark suits, of sparkling champagne flutes and forced smiles. but he only sees one thing. you.
you’re standing near one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights a glittering backdrop behind you. you’re not dressed in anything flashy, not like some of the other heroes here trying to outshine each other. your dress is a deep, muted blue, simple in its elegance, but it clings to you in all the right places.
your hair is swept up, exposing the long, graceful line of your neck that he has spent far too many nights thinking about. you look . . . ethereal. and completely, infuriatingly, absorbed in the man standing next to you.
the number two hero, is leaning in slightly, his voice a low murmur that katsuki can’t hear but can imagine. all calm and collected and fucking loquacious. and you’re nodding, your head tilted, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you swirl the red wine in your glass. you take a sip, and your eyes, bright and beautiful, never leave his face.
it’s the two weeks of silence that makes this unbearable. two weeks since the argument. two weeks since you walked out of his penthouse, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the sudden quiet.
he’d been an idiot. a complete, selfish bastard. he remembers it with crystal clarity. he’d gotten his ribs busted on a mission, nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a few days of mandatory rest. and you, being you, had descended upon his apartment like a force of nature.
“no, katsuki, you are not getting up. you’re going to lie on that couch and you’re going to let me take care of you.”
“i don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he’d snarled, trying to push himself up, wincing as the pain shot through his side.
“i’m not babysitting you, i’m making sure you don’t pop your stitches and bleed out on your ridiculously expensive couch because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re hurt,” you’d shot back, pressing a firm hand to his chest. “now lie down.”
he’d hated it. hated the feeling of being weak, of being managed. it reminded him too much of his mother, of all the times she’d fussed over him when he was a kid. and in a moment of frustration, laced with a fear he refused to acknowledge, he’d lashed out.
“quit nagging me, you’re not my mom or my damn girlfriend, so just back the fuck off!”
the words had hung in the air, ugly and so fucking sharp. he’d seen the change in your face instantly. the soft concern in your eyes had hardened. you’d straightened up, and your expression became unreadable.
“you’re right,” you’d said, your voice quiet and its cadence devoid of all its usual warmth. “i’m not.”
and just like that, you were gone. you didn’t yell back. you just . . . left. and the silence you left behind was louder than any explosion he could possibly ever create.
he’d told himself he was right. that you were overstepping. but the satisfaction he thought he’d feel never came. instead, there was just a hollow ache in his chest and the phantom scent of your vanilla perfume on his couch cushions.
he hadn’t texted. his pride was sacrosanct, and he couldn’t bring himself to be the first one to break the stalemate. he’d waited for you, checking his phone every five seconds like a pathetic loser. but your name never lit up his screen.
the days after the argument bled into a week, then two. the only communication he had from you was a group text about the gala, one sent to the whole old class 1-a crew. and tonight, seeing you here, looking so beautiful and so far away, it fucking hurt.
“bakugou? earth to bakugou?”
katsuki blinks, dragging his gaze away from you. kirishima is standing in front of him, his trademark sharp-toothed grin looking a little forced. sero is beside him, nursing a drink and looking around the room with a bored expression.
“the fuck do you want, shitty hair?” katsuki grunts, his voice rougher than he intended.
“whoa, easy there, man. just checking on you. you look like you’re about to set the whole place on fire,” kirishima says, holding up his hands placatingly. “which, you know, is kind of your deal, but maybe not tonight.”
sero follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on you and todoroki. he lets out a low whistle. “ahh. i see. that’s the problem.”
“shut the hell up,” katsuki warns, his knuckles white around his plaques. he can feel the heat prickling at his palms, a sizzle that he has to consciously suppress.
“look, man, i don’t know what happened,” kirishima says, lowering his voice. “but you’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. and you haven’t stopped staring at her and todoroki since they started talking. it’s been like, thirty minutes. maybe you should just . . .go talk to her?”
“and say what? ‘hey gorgeous, sorry i’m a colossal asshole but i get territorial when you talk to other guys’?” sero chimes in, earning himself a glare from katsuki. “what? it’s the truth.”
“it’s not like that,” katsuki lies through his teeth. it’s exactly like that. he’s a fucking caveman. he sees you with someone else and all he wants to do is drag you away, mark his territory, prove to everyone — but mostly to himself — that you’re his. except you’re not. and that’s the whole damn problem.
“then what’s it like?” kirishima pushes, his tone gentle. he’s the only one ( excluding you ) who can get away with this, the only one who knows how to navigate katsuki's landmines. “you guys are weird. you’re not together, but you’re always together. you stay at her place more than your own. you have her patrol route memorized. you text her more than you text us. but then you pull shit like this. it’s confusing for everyone, man. especially her.”
katsuki’s jaw ticks. he knows kirishima is right. he knows he’s been sending you mixed signals for years.
( it started wayyy back in kindergarten, when you were the only girl who didn’t annoy the shit out of him. the only one who stood up for deku when katsuki was picking on him he was being a pathetic crybaby, earning you grudging respect from katsuki even as he cussed you out for having a bleeding savior complex.
his mom had loved you, always saying how nice it would be to have a daughter like you, which had simultaneously embarrassed him and made him weirdly proud. you’d stayed close through all the chaos of ua, through internships and wars and the steady climb to becoming pro heroes. )
he’s always had a soft spot for you, a fact he’d rather die than admit out loud.
he likes taking care of you — he likes you taking care of him, even if he frames it as nagging. he likes knowing you’re safe, that you’ve eaten, that you’re drinking water instead of those disgusting energy drinks you love so damn much. he likes the way you leave your socks on his floor and the way you steal his hoodies. he likes all of it. and it terrifies him. it’s too much vulnerability and he doesn’t know how to handle it, so he defaults to what he knows: pushing you away before you can get close enough to see that he’s not worthy of you.
“i’m not talking to her,” katsuki says, rigidly “not tonight.”
“fine,” kirishima sighs, defeated. “but don’t come ranting to me when todoroki makes his move.”
katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. he just turns his back on his friends, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. you’ve just accepted your own award, a sleek thing for your humanitarian work, something about setting up a support network for young heroes with trauma. you’d given a short speech, and the applause had been incessant.
now, you’re back with todoroki, and he’s handing you another glass of wine. you touch his arm as you laugh at something he says, and katsuki feels a tiny spark in his palm. he shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists until the urge to blast something subsides.
he seethes as the night begins to wind down. deku and pink cheeks leave together, their heads close together, smiling. raccoon eyes is dragging sparky towards the bar again. he sees you talking to ponytail, pointing towards the exit. he knows you. you’re about to call a cab.
fuck that.
he’s been an idiot. he’s been a coward. he’s let you slip through his fingers because he’s too proud and too scared to admit what he wants. but he’ll be damned if he lets you leave here in some stranger's car when he’s right here. he’s not letting you go that easily.
without so much as thinking, he starts moving. he cuts a direct path through the dwindling crowd, his shoulders set, his expression a thundercloud. he doesn’t care who he has to shove out of his way to get to you.
you’re still talking to momo, your back to him, when he reaches you.
“let’s go.”
his voice cuts through your conversation roughly. you freeze, then turn slowly. your eyes, when they meet his, are wide with surprise, then they narrow with irritation.
“huh?” you ask, your voice laced with disbelief.
he stares at you, jaw set. “i said. let’s go.”
momo is looking between the two of you, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in intrigue. you cross your arms over your chest, defiantly
“and why, exactly, would i go anywhere with you?”
“are you gonna make me beg you or some shit”he shoots back, his patience wearing thin. he sees your mouth open to retort, but he doesn’t give you the chance. he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. he doesn’t wait for your permission, just turns and starts pulling you along with him.
“bakugou, what the hell are you doing? let go of me!” you’re squawking, stumbling a bit in your heels as you try to keep up with his long, angry strides.
“shut up and walk,” he growls, not even looking back at you. as he drags you away from the gala and out into the night.
the bickering starts the moment you hit the pavement. a verbal sparring match that’s as second-nature as breathing.
“you’re an asshole, you know that?”
“yeah? well you’re a stubborn pain in my ass.”
“i wouldn’t have to be stubborn if you weren’t such a neanderthal who thinks he can just manhandle people whenever he wants.”
“i wouldn’t have to manhandle you if you’d just listen when i fucking talk to you.”
“you haven’t ‘talked’ to me in two weeks, bakugou!”
“you haven’t talked to me either”
the argument dies on your lips as he leads you to the valet stand. he gives the attendant his ticket with a sharp nod, his hand still firmly on your wrist. the sleek black porsche pulls up a moment later, its engine a low, predatory purr. he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture so out of character it momentarily stuns you into silence.
“get in,” he orders, his voice clipped.
you glare at him, but you do it. you slide into the plush leather seat, grumbling under your breath about bossy, arrogant pro-heroes who think they own the world. he slams the door shut, rounding the hood to get in the driver’s side. the moment he’s behind the wheel, the atmosphere in the car shifts. the music blasts on, some thrash metal band screaming about death and destruction, so loud it makes your teeth ache.
he doesn’t say a word. he just grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords. he peels away from the curb, the tires screeching in protest. you press yourself back into the seat, staring at the dashboard, refusing to look at him. the city lights blur past the window, streaks of color in the darkness.
ten minutes pass in suffocating silence. the only sound is the aggressive music and the low hum of the engine. you can’t stand it. it’s worse than the fighting.
“you know,” you start “for someone with such great taste in cars, your music taste is absolute garbage.”
he grunts. but he reaches over, his fingers jabbing at the touchscreen on the console. the screaming metal cuts off abruptly, replaced by the soft strains of an indie band you love.
you shiver, a sudden chill raising goosebumps on your arms. the air conditioning is cranked up to arctic levels. he notices, of course he does. he just nods his head towards the back seat, where his suit jacket is carelessly tossed.
you hesitate for a second, then sigh, reaching back to grab it. you shrug it on, the heavy fabric immediately enveloping you. it smells like him. that woodsy, smoky cologne he wears, mixed his the unique scent. it’s simultaneously comforting and infuriating. he reaches down without a word and turns the ac down a few notches.
but he still doesn’t speak to you.
“can i ask you something, bakugou?” you ask,
the constant use of his last name hits him like a punch to the gut. so it’s like that now? he grits his teeth, his jaw ticking like a time bomb. “you just did, dumbass,” he scoffs.
“don’t be a smartass,” you snap, your voice rising. “why the hell did you make me come with you if you’re not going to talk to me?”
“you’re the one who didn’t say shit to me all night!” he retorts, “i walked in, saw you, and you looked right through me. not even a fucking ‘hi, katsuki’”
“maybe because you didn’t say shit to me all week!” you fire back, turning in your seat to face him. your eyes are blazing, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, he can see how beautiful you are when you’re angry.
“yeah? maybe because you fucking left!” he scoffs, his hand slamming on the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly.
“don’t act like i wanted to!” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration. “i took off because you can’t make up your damn mind! one minute you’re acting like we’re a . . . a thing, and the next you’re pushing me away and making me feel crazy for actually giving a damn about you!”
“what are you talking about?” he growls, his eyes glued to the road.
“oh, don’t play dumb, bakugou!” you exclaim, gesturing wildly. “you stay at my place and make me breakfast in the morning. you’re always showing up on my patrol route to ‘check in’. you’re always sending me texts, being all ‘don’t skip meals like a dumbass’ and ‘drink some fucking water today like a normal person’ and ‘don’t stay up all night watching those shitty rom-coms, you’ll be useless tomorrow’ ! you’re the one who acts like we’re a couple, and then you turn around and make me feel like i’m wrong for caring about you!”
he’s silent. the only sounds in his porsche are your ragged breathing and the soft music playing from the speakers. he just drives, his face a mask of stone. the silence is worse than the yelling. it feels like a dismissal.
“well?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “do you have anything to say?”
“well i’m trying to think,” he grits out, his voice low and strained.
but he hasn’t raised his voice. not once. through the entire tirade, he’s kept it level, controlled. because as pissed off as he is, as much as he wants to rage and scream, he can’t. he can’t scream at you. he can’t stay mad at you. not really. not when you look like this.
your glossy bottom lip is caught between your teeth, your brows are knitted together, your eyes are slanted with a fury that’s breathtakingly beautiful. your voice, high and pitched with emotion, is reverberating off the windows, filling the small space with your presence. he hates it. he loves it.
you look away from him, staring out the window, your shoulders slumping in defeat. and that’s when he breaks. one hand is still on the wheel, but the other moves, finding its way to your thigh. his touch is hesitant at first, then firm against the thin fabric of your dress.
“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry, ‘kay?”
you scoff, not looking at him.
“i fucked up but that doesn’t mean you need to run off with someone else,” he says, his voice strained with jealousy he can no longer hide.
you let out a humorless laugh, finally turning back to him “i didn’t run off with anyone else.”
“you know what i mean,” he insists, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly.
“no, katsuki, i don’t think i do,” you say, “why don’t you spell it out for me?”
“i’m not gonna spell it out for ya,” he grunts, his eyes flicking to you before returning to the road. “it’s bad enough he was hogging you all night.”
“are you jealous, katsuki?” you ask, your voice softening, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes.
“huh?”
“are you jealous, katsuki?” you echo, enunciating each word clearly.
“the hell?” he sputters, his composure finally cracking.
“jealous. like the feeling you get when you’re scared of losing someone to someone else and—”
“i’m not scared of shit!” he snarls, cutting you off.
the car is low on gas, the warning light a small, glowing beacon on the dashboard. he spots a gas station up ahead and swerves into the lot, pulling up to a pump with a screech of tires. he cuts the engine. the music dies, plunging the car into a heavy silence that’s more deafening than the noise had been.
he turns to you then, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station.
“jealousy is for fucking losers who are scared of shit they can’t control,” he says, “that’s not what this is. this is me being pissed off because i had to watch the only person i actually give a damn about laugh at some half-and-half bastard’s shitty jokes. it made me want to put my fist through a goddamn wall.”
he takes a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel.
“i told you to quit nagging me because this is confusing,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t fucking know where i stand with you. and i’m not used to feeling like this. i never know what to do, and i’m always fucking up and pushing you away. but i’m not jealous. i’m fucking pissed with myself for being a damn coward.”
and with that, he shoves his door open and gets out of the car, leaving you alone with his words and the frantic beating of your own heart.
you watch him through the windshield as he jams the nozzle into the gas tank, his movements sharp and angry. he stares blankly ahead.
he fills the tank. he replaces the nozzle. he gets back in the car. he starts the engine. he turns to look at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.
and you’re done. you’re done with the fighting and the silence. you’re done with the uncertainty. you lean across the center console, the plastic digging into your abdomen, and you cup his face in your hands. his skin is warm, his stubble rough against your palms. his ears and cheeks flush instantly, a deep, burning red that rivals his crimson eyes. a deep red that you can see even in the dim light.
“the hell are you doing?” he manages to stutter, his eyes wide with shock.
you don’t answer. you just close the distance and press your lips to his.
it’s not gentle. it’s all the frustration and longing and unspoken feelings of the last two weeks finally exploding. it’s teeth and tongues and desperate, hungry kisses. one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, the other gripping the back of your neck, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to slip through his fingers. you get lost in it, in the taste of him, in the feel of him whimpering against your lips, until a loud, impatient honk from the car behind you shatters the moment.
you pull back, breathless, your lips swollen and tingling. he moans, a low, frustrated sound, and you can’t help but laugh. he looks like he’s about to get out of the car and start a fight, even though he’s the one blocking the pump.
“be patient for fucks sake!” he yells, winding down his window to flip the other driver off.
you’re still laughing as he pulls away from the pump and merges back onto the empty street. the sound of your laughter seems to quench some of his remaining anger, and a small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips.
“we left our conversation unfinished,” he says, his voice softer now. he glances over at you, and his eyes are funny. all soft and warm in a way you've never seen before. “can’t just kiss me out of the blue when we’re not done talking, dumbass”
“unfinished, huh?” you hum, a little flustered under his gaze. you can still feel the lingering sensation of his lips on yours, the ghost of his touch on your skin. “i thought we came to a pretty solid conclusion.”
he scoffs, but there’s no frustration in it. “we came to a conclusion about me being a coward. we still haven’t figured out what this is.” he gestures between the two of you. “i’m not good with labels and shit. and you’ve got so many expectations i probably won't meet. i’m guaranteed to fuck something up ‘cause i don’t know how to be all . . . lovey dovey,” he says the words like they taste bad, “but i know what i want.”
he pulls up to a red light and turns his body fully towards you. the soft glow of the traffic light paints his face in shades of crimson, making his eyes glow like embers.
“i want you to stop looking at icy-hot and other extras like they’ve got something to offer you,” he says, “cause they fucking don’t. i’m all you need and i’m done pretending this isn’t everything to me.”
the man who’s too proud to ask for anything is asking to be your everything.
“everything?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he simply nods.
“define everything,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. you expect him to call you a brat, to accuse you of trying to rile him up. but it doesn’t come.
instead, he looks away from the road for a second, his gaze dropping to your hands, which are now tangled together on the center console. the red light bathes him in its unforgiving glow, and you see something shift in his expression. the defensiveness melts away, replaced by honesty that’s far more disarming.
“everything,” he repeats, his voice a low rumble, “is you living in my head rent fucking free.”
your smirk falters.
“it’s me getting pissed off for no goddamn reason when you’re not with me and i don’t know what the hell you’re doing. it’s me staring at my phone after that stupid argument, wanting to text you so bad my thumbs fucking hurt, but not knowing what the hell to say because i’m the asshole who made you to leave.”
he takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel now, as if confessing to it is easier than confessing to you.
“it’s me wanting to drag you away from icy-hot the second i saw you with him, not just because i was pissed, but because i’m greedy, okay? i want all that shit you watch in those dumb rom coms. i want an apartment, or a shitty little townhouse, i don’t give a fuck. i want to wake up and know you’re the first thing i’ll see. i want to cook for you because you seem to get off on neglecting yourself and someone’s gotta make sure you actually eat your goddamn three a day. i want to take care of you.”
he finally looks at you, and his eyes are burning with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.
“that’s what everything is,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s selfish. it’s me wanting all of your time, all of your attention, all of your annoying, stubborn, fucking beautiful self. all to myself. it’s me wanting to be the one who makes you laugh. it’s me wanting to be the only one who gets to see you like this. so yeah. you’re everything to me.”
the light turns verdant. the car behind you honks. but neither of you moves. you’re frozen in this moment. static in this raw confession that has completely dismantled every defense he’s ever built around you. he didn’t just answer your teasing question; he laid his soul bare on the console between you, waiting for you to either take it or leave it.
the world shrinks to the space inside his car. the honking from behind fades into a distant, meaningless buzz. your teasing smirk is long gone, replaced by a slack-jawed awe. you’re not breathing. you’re not sure you even remember how.
katsuki bakugou — the boy who called you a bloody samaritan for standing up for deku. the teenager who scoffed at every romance movie you made him watch. the explosive hero who snarls at cameras and sneers at press conferences — just confessed to wanting a life so domestic, so tender with you. and it sounded just like something straight out of one of those ‘shitty rom coms’ he claims to hate.
a choked sound escapes your throat, something between a gasp and a sob. you’re not crying, not really, but your eyes are stinging. you squeeze his hand, your grip tight enough to make him look at you, really look at you.
“katsuki,” you breathe, and his name is a prayer on your lips. “you. . you really want all that?”
he flinches, just slightly, as if your disbelief physically hurts him. the vulnerability in his eyes hardens into that familiar, defensive glower. “i just laid my damn heart out for you and you’re gonna question me?” he starts to snap, his old reflexes kicking in.
“no,” you shake your head. you lean forward, closing the distance until your forehead is nearly touching his. “no, i’m not questioning you. i’m . . . trying to believe it’s real.”
the anger in his face dissolves instantly. he lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. “it’s real,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “it’s always been real.”
your heart stutters, then restarts at a frantic, pace. all the years of friendship, the bickering, the unspoken tension—it wasn’t in your head. it wasn’t just you wishing for something more. it was real for him, too.
“tsuki, i’ve wanted this forever” you whisper back, your voice trembling. it’s like you’ve just defused a bomb you’ve been carrying around for a decade. the last of the tension drains from his shoulders, and he sags against you, his forehead resting on yours. he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re the softest they’ve ever been and his pupils are blown so impossibly wide.
“me too” he breathes, reverently. “you have no idea.”
he finally starts driving again. you’re so close to your place now. rounding the corner onto your street. when he finally pulls up in front of your buildinh, he cuts the engine but doesn’t let go of your hand. he turns to you, his expression serious again
“i’m gonna say this once” he starts, his voice low. “so you better be listening.”
he leans in closer, “you’re not my mom. you’re not some random girl to me. you’re it. you’ve always been it. i was just too stupid to say it. so if i’m being a dumbass, you tell me. if i’m not taking care of myself, you nag me. if i’m pushing you away, push back harder. don’t you ever let me get away with that shit again. you hear me?”
“i hear you,” you whisper, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst.
“good,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again. it’s slower this time, deeper, a kiss that’s not born of frustration or desperation, it’s sealing of the deal.
when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “now,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “are you gonna invite me up, or are we gonna sit here all night? i didn’t fill up my tank to just drive you home and leave.”
a laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and airy. you pull back just enough to look at him, to see the hope mixed with his usual cocky assurance in his eyes.
“i mean. . “ you trail off, reaching up and tracing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, “after a speech like that, how could i possibly say no?”
he huffs, contently. he nips playfully at your thumb as it passes his lips. “don’t you fucking start with me,” he warns
you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “i’m starting” you whisper against his skin. “come make it up to me before i change my mind”
that’s all the encouragement he needs. he’s out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door with an urgency that makes your heart race. he offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet and into his arms right there on the sidewalk. he kicks the car door shut with his foot, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and then his arms are around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.
you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “god, you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice muffled.
you’re not sure how you make it from the car to your front door. it’s a blur of tangled limbs, laughter, and kisses that are more about staying connected than anything else. he presses you against your door. he’s fumbling for your keys, his hands clumsy with impatience, and you’re not helping, too busy nipping at his jawline.
“give me the damn keys,” he groans
you hand them over, and he manages to get the door open after a few tries. he practically kicks it open, scooping you up again and carrying you over the threshold like it’s your wedding night. he kicks the door shut behind him, plunging the entryway into darkness, save for the soft glow of the city filtering through your windows.
he sets you down gently, but he doesn’t let go. his hands are on your waist, his forehead resting against yours.
“katsuki,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his calloused fingers slip the straps of your dress down your arms.
“shh,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in the darkness. “no more talking baby”
and for the first time, you think you might actually be okay with that.
i think kiri will only mark you — like full blown, uncontrolled marking — when he's overstimulated...
going raw for the first time and you can tell he's barely holding himself together, his thrusts are shallow and his eyes glossed over like he's trying not to break.
having to coax him through each movement, kissing his jawline and thumbing away the tears in his eyes as he moves inside you, mouth agape like it needs something to cling to.
so you give that to him.
guiding his head to the crook of your neck and whispering 'bite' against the shell of his ear. you expect him to ignore you, give a warning thrust, laughing as he tells you he 'isn't that far gone.'
but it doesn't happen, and instead you're graced with teeth digging into your shoulder.
it's gentle at first, like he's holding onto the slightest bit of restraint, but when you clench around him, back arched and moaning in his ear — he knows it's an invitation to be a little rougher <3
a/n: to go off this blurb from 🦈 nonnie, marking supremacy | masterlist
꒰ 💌 mdni. kirishima won’t let his shy girl look away during missionary. . . ꒱ ⸝⸝ .ᐟ
kirishima won’t let you look away, tangled within his muscular frame, all sweaty limbs and breathless gasps wrapped up in pure ecstasy. his body hovers above yours, casting shadows in the dim light spilling through the loose curtains and cool evening air. the sweet smell of vanilla wafts through the room, soft ribbons of smoke curling lazily from the incense he had lit only moments prior.
kirishima always makes sure the moment is sensual, wrapped in a lovesick haze—he’s a very romantic man at heart. and he holds yours with large, calloused hands adorned with various scars that trail up his arms, across his back, and toward his chest like inked medals, tributes to his life as a hero—a man very much capable of violence, yet all soft lips and hushed reassurance when he’s buried beneath the covers with you. his favorite place, he thinks. tucked away with you, lapping at your spoils, while you squirm beneath him, all pretty whimpers and trembling limbs.
the head of his cock traces your slick folds slowly, your pussy aching for his girth to finally stuff your needy hole full. his voice is low, a rasp that settles warm against your skin. you’re feverish underneath him, body practically molded to his, the way he keeps you close. voice rough yet it holds a softness reserved only for you, he’s demanding too—every time you squirm or let your gaze drift to the ceiling, nerves curling tight in your chest during this intimate, overwhelming moment.
“look at me.” he says it like a mantra with such authority that it only makes the wetness between your thighs pool further, the ache inside you growing louder. you shake your head weakly, but his cock pushes through your entrance now, your hole greedily welcoming him, swallowing him down to the base. he’s warm inside you, full in a way that sends a rushing sensation rushing through your body. you need him to move, need him to fuck you dizzy.
“mphm, kiri i need you to mo—”
he thrusts once, rutting his hips into you slowly—just enough to graze your sweet spot, sending a rush of white-hot pleasure through your body, before stilling almost immediately.
“like that?” he asks, voice strained, and you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to keep going.
his grin is wild, sharp, shark-like teeth glinting as the edges of his lips curl cruelly. he waits, blood-red eyes fixed on you, and even through the haze of lust you can feel the weight of his stare.
he’s waiting for you to cave.
you know he won’t give in until you look at him.
despite the urge to curl away and hide, you slowly turn, your eyes catching the velvet softness hidden within his stare. your heart—the very organ tasked with keeping you alive—beats so rapidly you fear it may give one final pump and finally surrender as you weakly meet his devoted gaze.
his soul seems to brim in the irises of his eyes, to spill from the pads of his fingertips—the same ones that catch your jaw the moment you falter and turn away again, burying yourself in the plush pillow where the faint scent of lilies lingers in the fabric from the detergent you’d washed it with.
his touch is warm as he cups your jaw, fingers pressing gently into your skin, thumb tracing idly over the softness of your bottom lip.
“look at me, i wanna see that pretty face.”
your cheeks bloom a deep red under his honeyed words. “shut up, you’re so dumb,” you mutter, completely flustered, shoving his hand away—but it only makes him chuckle. his face drops into the crook of your shoulder, deep crimson locks spilling forward, bangs falling into his eyes before he brushes them aside. he looks slightly disheveled, completely open for you.
his thumb presses against your lips before slipping past them, kneading gently at your gums as a boyish grin spreads across his face. “you’re so cute. you have no reason to be shy, baby… just keep looking at me, hm?” he murmurs. when he pulls his thumb free, saliva glistens along the pad of it. you bite down lightly, leaving behind faint marks from your teeth.
“she bites,” he says, something wild flickering across his expression.
his hands find yours, fingers interlacing as he pins them above your head, hips rocking into you with a steady, building rhythm. your eyes stay locked on him, both of you slick with heat, the sounds of him filling you echoing in the tight space between you. his thrusts turn fast, erratic—until he slows just enough to drag against your g-spot, chasing the way your breath stutters at the curve of him.
his forehead falls against yours, maroon strands spilling around you both like a curtain shielding you from the world outside your windows. one hand slips free to cup your face, thumb tracing soft circles into your skin. kirishima’s lips find yours again, his tongue brushing along the seam of your mouth, asking—before taking. you melt into him, breaths tangled, shared, stolen, given back all at once, inhaling each other’s oxygen, greedily consuming it. a perfect depiction of love.
his other hand leaves yours, drifting lower, finding the swollen bud of your clit. he rubs slow, light circles—barely there—but paired with the heat of his mouth, the wet press of his tongue, and the steady thrust of his cock, it’s enough to make your thighs shake. he smells like warm cedarwood and clean soap, layered with something faintly musky and lived-in, like he’s just stepped out of training, and it clings to him in a way that’s completely intoxicating—you’re drunk off his scent.
his movements falter just slightly, hips stuttering as your body tightens around him, pulsing.
“fuck…” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you. “she’s gripping me.”
his forehead presses harder to yours, almost too much. “you feel so good… look so pretty when you finish on my cock, my sweet baby,” he coos.
your nails dig into his broad back, crescent marks forming as you cling to him.
“gonna spill,” he mutters under his breath.
you wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, refusing to let go. he glances down at you, breath catching, a half-laugh breaking free.
“you’re sure you don’t want me to pu—”
you only tighten your hold, thighs squeezing his torso.
he laughs, breathless, grin sharp and besotted with fondness, “greedy girl.”
꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ masterlist - kofi - emergency comm info!
@tokkushin pushing the shy!gf agenda (≧◡≦) ♡ !!
note : i may have went overboard with the detail but i really hope u guys can feel the intimacy i was trying to portray. . i listened to cinderella by mac miller while writing this and i love that song sigh. reblogs, likes and comments are so appreciated and make my day 🫶
taglist : @xoxojisu @esilek @candiiee @cvnt4him @panchikogirlfriend @lotusstarr @cupkiki @3lenaatvt @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @wonubby @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @luckybibucky @changkyunnnie @twoplayergaymers @izutwos @doubelieveme @ivankinnieclatter @roronoafushiguroaratakahakari @green-orange-bloom @sparklylanddetective @lem-hhn @gaige312 @ryobaby @hrts4cupid @buuxbear @b00rants @v4mp1r3b4tzz @trilxogyyy @loveergirll @searchingfornothinggg @megumisrighttoe @rarebambi @vitya124 @sogmarizzler @lilfluffybunny @dreamyreadinglover @nonokoo @yxo7 @sunnyfieldsz @ludmiig @azizxxxah @lun3z take a look at this post to be added, or removed!
you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
synopsis: your ex boyfriend hates when you go to his friend’s hangouts. he still loves you though.
tags: minors dni, 18+, angsty, fluffy, smutty, making out, fingering (f). mentions of: jealousy, cheating (nobody does this) and insecurity.
notes: i rarely write insecure yns!!!!! usually i make bkg the insecure one LOL but branching out this new year. my true yn is neverrrrrr insecure though just so we are clear lol
when people say don’t date within your friendship group, don’t. when you break up, annoyances over too much pda and escaping the group to make out now become awkward encounters in group gatherings, having a conversation pretending the other isn’t there and parties trying to sneak a look at the other. every time you look at bakugou, he notices. every single time.
it didn’t mean to end badly with bakugou katsuki. you promise, a cross over your heart, that you didn’t want it to be an explosive ending because you knew you still had to see him regularly. you didn't only have the same friends but you lived in the same area, you had the same job. there’s equal chances that you’d see him on your weekly food run or in a meeting in your agency. though with this inevitability of seeing the pro hero again, it luckily means your friends work together so you don’t have to.
including tonight, when you were told bakugou wasn’t coming to midoriya’s monthly friend gathering because he’d be coming back late from his mission abroad. finally, it would be your turn to hang with your friends without the elephant shaped explosion hero in the room.
you let yourself through the open door, smile plastered on and pulling off your jacket, “sorry i’m late! there was traffic on the road coming over—,”
the room falls silent. so quiet you could hear a pin drop. three pairs of eyes bounce like a ping pong match between you and your ex boyfriend, the one who wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. you feel like a divorced parent, screaming that it’s your turn with the kids tonight.
looking at bakugou now, it always stings. it’s so vivid, the memory of how he’d look at you when you dated, that now it just feels like a hallucination that never happened. he looks disgusted, lip curled, eyebrows scrunched down and his eyes hooded as if he hates the fact you’re here. you think he just might. it doesn’t help when he pushes out of his seat with a loud scrape that makes your skin flare up with goosebumps. he storms out of the living room with his jaw clenched, off down midoriya's hallway.
your shoulders drop, exhausted. you just wanted an evening with your friends.
before you can apologise and sneak out, uraraka pipes up, donning a sweet pink sweater, hands intertwined under the table with midoriya's. her hazel eyes are so big and sympathetic that you’re embarrassed you caused this much commotion, “so sorry yn! we were texting you but i think because you were driving all the messages were going to silent.”
you pull out your phone. multiple texts from uraraka that bakugou’s flight was pushed back and he’s coming tonight. midoriya tried to call and then texted, Just a heads up, Kacchan will be here tonight. even todoroki, who only ever replies to you with one word, gave you two, Bakugou’s coming.
irritation blooms inside of you, prickling all over and you feel as if you’re about to bite. ochako is mumbling something to midoriya, who gives you another painfully sympathetic look and todoroki who is used to awkward dinners, focuses down on his phone, pretending he’s not there.
“sorry but it’s enough. i cant be doing this with him anymore, it’s unfair on you guys.”
you pull your shoes off, leaving them by the matching bigger ones at midoriya’s front door and plopping your bag down on his sofa.
“i’m going to talk to him and we’ll sort this out.”
todoroki looks up at you, a small smile on his face, “good luck.”
you already know where bakugou would be. everything you know about the man within three years of dating didn’t go down the drain. you pass the gym, midoriya’s bedroom, his bathroom, to his guest bedroom. yours and bakugou’s unofficial bedroom that you’d use every time you stayed over.
you only knock once before pushing the door open, finding the pro hero laying back on the bed, on top of the covers, facing the ceiling.
he’s always been the most beautiful man to you. you don’t think anyone else will ever be able to top him for the rest of your life. everybody always sees him mid fight, mid arguing, mid shouting. but bakugou katsuki, completely calm, is stunning.
gorgeous fluttering eyelashes that are long and straight. a jaw so sharp and a neck so thick, you remember kissing there first whenever you sat on his lap. his eyes… they span all shades of red depending on his emotions. your favourite was when they were a glowing ruby, full of love and appreciation for you.
but now he sits up, facing away and caught off guard by your presence. he was definitely expecting deku to walk in here, begging him to act right and to be nice to you. though once bakugou lays his eyes on you, a quick glance, his eyes become stone cold. washed over like a ship on stormy seas. he’s in a cream woollen zip up and you feel a burn right where your heart sits when you don’t recognise it.
bakugou leans forward, dropping his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. his sigh is dramatic and obnoxious and as much as you hate to see the disgust in his eyes when he looks at you now, you need to talk to him for the sake of your friends.
“we’ve got to talk.” you whisper. it’s like you’ve been demoted to a stranger, unsure how he’ll react.
“i don’t think we do, yn. i don’t have anythin’ to say to you.”
you’ve not spoken to him in weeks, perhaps when you asked him to pass the potatoes at kaminari’s dinner and before that was when you officially broke up. you’ve seen him a few times in agency offices, when you’ve had to drop things off. those times always ended with a melancholy look from him, before he stalks off out of your sight. since then you’ve successfully avoided each other.
bakugou still faces away from you. you can only see his side profile, his back. it reminds you of when you’d lie in this very bed, lightly scratching his back to tempt him to lay with you again. he’d always end up giving in.
“for our friends. we’ve made it so… awkward for them.” you’re looking at your hands because everything in this room is a memory.
“they’re my friends. they were my fuckin’ friends first.” he spits and that causes you to snap, rolling your eyes and turning your fingers into fists.
“how old are you?”
that causes bakugou to look at you. your body heats under his gaze. his eyes start at your socked feet, not bothering to put on slippers in your rush to talk to the man. your sheer black tights and mini skirt. then your winter jumper on top, red with a large white star in the centre. he’s silent as he stares at your face, your pouted lips, pretty eyes. your cheeks and forehead that he’d always kiss first.
“the fuck?”
“you’re acting like a child. you met them first at school and i met them when i started the programmes with ochako! they’re our friends. i didn’t even meet them through you!” you blurt, throwing your hands up in the air.
bakugou bolts up and the motion surprises you but you stand your ground refusing to move.
“i’m acting like a child? it’s you and them with all these fuckin’ texts. nobody tells me when you’re going to be here, nobody texts me in advance that yn is on her way. you’re always just here and everyone’s always so fuckin’ happy to see you.”
he’s massive, he’s always been large, able to loom over you and intimidate. at least he’s trying to intimidate you, make you leave and back down. you see his gold canine when he grinds down on his jaw, the scars on his hands tightening as he crosses his arms across his chest. it doesn’t work on you. you’re seen this man in every position possible. crying in your arms when he couldn’t save a little girl in a fire and begging you not to leave him. in hospital, weak with fresh stitches across his chest and in your bedroom, overstimulated for a release.
so you step in closer to him, head up so he can’t break eye contact with you, “because you act like this. running off to have a tantrum whenever i appear. we can be civil, i always wanted us to be civil, katsuki.”
he laughs, lacking all humour with a grin that looks villainous. “you think we can be civil? to go from loving you, to fuckin’ civil?”
you sharply inhale. there should have been a contract he signed that you can’t talk about how much he loved you and you to him.
“do you not think about how painful it is to be around you? listenin’ to how good your life is going without me in it? up on the charts, another sponsor. i get it if i have to see you in agencies, but at deku’s? in this f-fuckin’ room?”
bakugou’s trying not to shout, he knows how you shut down when anyone raises their voice at you. but not shouting means now his voice is trembling, a scratched whisper like his voice box is infected with sickness.
you’re speechless for a moment and he takes a chance to stand up straighter, a deep breath to reorder his organs. “so fuckin’ forgive me if i have to take a moment before dealing with you, unexpectedly, for a whole evening.”
“i didn’t want us to be like this.” you shake your head, chewing down on your cheek. it’s you who looks away because bakugou looking like he’s about to cry will set you off. you can see his waterline brewing with tears, even when he turns to wipe them away.
“you did a fucked job at makin’ us any different.”
you’re like an untrained puppy, jumping from emotion to emotion with every word he says. you clutch the end of your skirt so you don’t press your fingernails into your palms.
“don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same in my position! our jobs always come first if we like it or not!” you blurt, “i couldn’t handle comparing myself to you all the time, about how the media would say i’m weak and an embarrassment for you. you would have done the exact same to me!”
he’s going to pull his hair out by the root, you never see his point of view. he wishes he could just insert his brain into yours for a moment, see yourself how he sees you and nothing else matters. “i never gave a fuck about the media. you shouldn’t have given a fuck either.”
you scoff, “it’s easy for you to say when you weren’t being bombarded with it.”
you walk over to look out the window, anything away from the man who makes you crumble. it’s feels as if all your senses are going off, serotonin being released in the air just from being in his presence.
“and my life hasn’t been better without you. i’ve just been working so much and i wanted my one break with my friends. not to be arguing with you.” you watch the snow fall outside, a tree branch snapping from holding too much.
“i can make a statement. tell them all to back off, that there’s no need to compare us. to even talk about us.”
you didn’t expect him to be so close to you, the heat of his breath trickling down your neck. his voice is deep and gravelly, every word scraping his throat.
you smile, defeated, “we both know they’d ignore it. i saw a comment that i was just a waiting room until you leave me and become number one. i was overthinking every time i’d see you talk to another woman.”
you yelp when his calloused fingers land on your bicep, spinning you around so your back is pressed against the window.
the need is tangible in his eyes, molten lava pupils forcing you into his atmosphere. his hand stays on your bicep and his other twitches to land on your cheek, your waist, though it lays limply by his side.
“was i not good to you? did you think i would have actually gone through with cheatin’ on you? did i not show you how much i love you?”
you can’t handle all the emotion, the crack in his voice, how he gives in and tangles his fingers with yours. you turn away from him, clamping your eyes shut so you don’t cry.
“it wasn’t about that—,”
he doesn’t give you time, fingertips on your chin to face him again, “answer me. did i show you how much i love you? i treated you right, always looked after you. i took you on dates, bought you gifts. i always made you breakfast and picked you up when i was half asleep and i listened to everything you’d ever say.”
you’re nodding before he can finish his sentence, wiping away the tear trickling down your cheek. “you did. you were so good to me.”
bakugou feels desperate, shaking the bars to his enclosure to get you to understand. “so why the fuck would i cheat on you? you’ve all i’ve ever wanted, all i need—,”
“i know, katsuki, i know but i couldn’t control it! i was always reading that i’m incomparable to you, an article on how another hero would match you perfectly, seeing your new sidekicks and i couldn’t do it.” you sniff and both paw-like palms rest on your cheeks to wipe away your tears.
it’s a reflex, it’s the only way he can excuse why he kisses you. whenever you’d cry around him, be it over stress or a bad day at work, bakugou would always lay his lips over yours in a little peck. it was the only way to snap you out of your carousel of revolving thoughts.
his lips are sweet on your salty ones and he’s about to apologise for even touching you like that, how inappropriate but you sneak your arms around his neck and lock his head to yours. it’s a peck that becomes open mouthed, his head tilting as he pushes you up against the window. he swallows your gasp, his hand sneaking up your jumper to feel your warm waist at the same time you bite down on his lower lip.
“i’ve missed you so much.” he mumbles against your lips and you’re yet to say the same, you’re yet to even say you still love him. bakugou doesn’t know how to get it out of you without begging.
you pull him back in, hands clutching at his hair. everything is grabby and needy, soft fabric of his jumper in your palms and your pulsing tongue swiping against his. it all makes you wetter, wetter than you’ve been in months.
bakugou presses his crotch in your stomach and your shaky exhale becomes a whimper. “tell me you missed me, baby.”
you don’t even need to think, the words tumble past you, your inner dialogue escaping, “i’ve missed you so much, so much katsuki.”
that’s enough for bakugou to pick you up and throw you onto the bed. your bed. his bed. forearms by your head and he’s kissing trails across your jawline, down your neck. your legs magnetise around his waist, biting back groans every time he grinds between your open legs.
“needed to hear that. i’ve been dying, being apart from you,” and he wants to whip off your jumper to kiss down your shoulder and chest. everything feels insufficient, if he doesn’t touch you now, when will you ever let him again? his chest is heavy and heaving and it’s your hands grabbing at his jumper for him to take it off.
he does so without much thought and bakugou feels alight, a raging ball of fire as your eyes gaze down his body. your lips are bitten sore, eyes swollen red and he doesn’t think you could be any prettier than you are at this moment. your hands brush down his chest, thumbs over his nipples, each finger tip across his abdomen. bakugou’s breathing is unpredictable, shaky. his cock is sitting painfully in his jeans and all he’s done is kiss you.
“you’re so beautiful. i always told you that, didn’t i?” you mumble in a trance and bakugou slowly nods.
“yeah, you did. nothin’ compared to you though, prettiest girl i’ve ever seen. i will ever see.”
he shuffles your thick jumper off, leaving you in a delicate lilac lace bra and your mini skirt. “fuck,” it feels like forever since he’s last had you like this, needy and panting in his arms, “and you took all this away from me?” then he laughs, “i didn’t even do shit.”
his gaze is so soft, so loving, it makes you weightless. you hold his cheek, unable to contain it all without feeling like you made a grave mistake.
“katsuki,” you whisper, dragging him down by his nape for another kiss. you’re biting away your moans, tugging tufts of his hair without realising. he starts to grind down on you again and your tights are so thin against his jeans that everything feels delectable. “we can’t have sex.”
“why?” bakugou pulls off you, eyes wide and alert. he’s preparing for his heart to break again, you’ve been with someone else since you’ve been apart, you’re dating someone new, you’re—
instead, you give him a smile that renders his brain useless, pure mush and fog. “because all our friends are a few rooms over wondering why we aren’t screaming our heads off at each other.”
bakugou blinks, then blinks some more to clear his vision from his one track mind to make you come or to kill a man that doesn’t exist.
there’s still so much to say between you both, he needs you to be his again, he needs to fix this problem in with your relationship, he needs you back in his fucking arms.
“i swear i don’t fuckin’ care.” and you can tell from the way he holds you closer against his chest, rocking his hips into yours, “there’s not one part of me that cares right now.”
you take it upon yourself to tighten your legs around bakugou’s hips and roll him onto his back so you’re on top, sitting on his chest.
it’s arousing how he grins, slow and seductive like this sneaking around is just foreplay, a little bit of fun.
“and i’m sorry baby, but we still need to talk about everything,” you breathe.
“baby? i still gotta chance?”
“i didn’t—,” you sigh, palms pressed flat against his chest. you adore bakugou with his cheeks flushed, eyes hooded sleepily and his hands locked on your hips, “i need to work through things.”
he intertwines his fingers with yours, “together, we can work through them together.” he doesn’t let you look away from him, “can’t let you get away again. i can’t.”
“don’t make me cry again,” you lightly scratch his chest and bakugou thinks he’s discreet when he shifts you onto his cock.
but you inhale immediately, gnawing down on your bottom lip to fight a moan, “katsuki,” you warn.
“not gonna make you cry. fuckin’ hate when you do.” he thrusts his hips upwards, grinding your hips over him like you’re clay to be moulded.
“no, i mean it about us not having sex,” you whine, flicking your hips in rhythm with him. bakugou’s dying to kick his jeans off, feel you wet and warm around him. “we need to go back in there and act like we hate each other.”
“don’t hate you. it’s the fuckin’ opposite.” all the blood in bakugou’s races to his crotch, head light with nothing inside. moans are tumbling from him, eyes on your breasts spilling out of your pretty bra.
he nods his head to it, “when’d you buy that? when we broke up?”
his hand sneaks under your skirt, the pads of his pointer and middle finger rubbing circles into your clit.
you’re overwhelmed, hard to focus on what you shouldn’t do, what you want to do and what you shouldn't say. you don’t stop roaming his chest, rutting your hips against his hand.
you shake your head, breathless, “no. when we were together.”
“hah?” he grunts, studying you like you’re an equation to work out. he keeps rubbing you over your thin layers, electric that you want him just as much, “why’d i never get to see it?”
you’re pressing your hips down, pleasure spreading through you like melting butter. you’re all hot, flushed, hair a mess. “i don’t want to tell you.”
that makes bakugou perk up, resting up on a forearm, “nah, tell me. tell me or you’re not comin’.”
“no, it’s so embarrassing,” you slur, kissing the corner of his lips then his bottom one. it’s like you’ve never been apart, everything about him is so familiar.
sitting up fully now with you straddling his lap, bakugou sneaks his hand past your tights and underwear. his rough fingers swipe down to your centre, collecting your wetness to rub over your sensitive bud. you can barely keep your head up.
“oh fuck,” you mewl, lips against his ear, “it always feels so much better when you do it.”
“i know, baby,” he coos, other hand on your ass, “tell me why i’ve never seen this bra.”
you’re close to tears for a whole other reason now, clutching onto him like a lifeline.
“i-i was so insecure by the end. thinking about you and other women. thought you wouldn’t like me like this,” you whimper.
it’s anger that strikes bakugou first, anger at himself, for you feeling like this and him not having a clue until you couldn’t handle it all. no matter what he thinks, he wasn’t a good boyfriend, he should have known this, noticed the changes.
“so stupid. have never looked at anyone else since i met you. whenever i touch myself i think of you. it’s a fuckin’ privilege seein’ you like this, yn,” no pet name because he needs you to know he means you. “you’re the first thing i’ve ever wanted and couldn’t have. ripped from my fuckin’ hands.”
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, so close to falling apart over his fingers. you just need one thing to set you off. your body moves hypnotically over him and bakugou’s in a trance. your breasts heave in his face and he litters kisses over them.
“don’t apologise to me. i’m gonna fix this all,” he breathes, lips wet with his own spit, “gonna come for me, sweetness? wanna see you.”
you take his jaw in your palm, bringing him to your face in an open mouthed kiss. as soon as his tongue touches yours, you’re falling apart, hips jutting faster, face going limp. there’s white behind your eyelids, squeezing them shut because the pleasure is more than you can handle.
“all for me. let me have it. my pretty girl, aren’t you?” he grunts, laying kiss upon kiss on your lips. “you’re not leavin’ me after this are you?”
“fuck,” you try to whisper so your friends don’t hear, but it’s spilling out of you, “no, never. i love you so much, katsuki. so much.”
finally, finally he gets to hear it from you. “i love you too. you drive me insane.”
once you’re wiped out, bakugou pulls his fingers from your quivering hole and quickly inserts them into his mouth.
you laugh sleepily, hitting his shoulder, “you’re so crazy.”
he shrugs, locking you in his arm against his chest. once he's sure he's sucked every bit of your essence, he smirks, “i would eat you out but they’re gonna hear you screamin’. you wouldn’t want that.”
he’s missed you desperately. especially like this, tender in his arms looking at him like he’s your world. he’s sure he’s got the same look in his eyes.
another giggle flows from you.
“can i be yours again? you takin’ me back?” he asks softly, preparing to flinch from your rejection. he could barely take it the first time, but now?
“i’m not saying no—,”
bakugou rests his head on your shoulder in failure, hands gripping your waist. “fuck.”
“no, listen to me,” he lifts his head slowly, the pout unmissable, “i love you, i want to be with you forever. i just need to work on ignoring the comments and getting so jealous. or else this will just happen again.”
“can’t have this happenin’ again,” he mumbles, completely lovedrunk, trying to read everything unsaid in your eyes.
you shake your head, holding him in your hands, “just give me some time, please. i know i sorta sprung it on you before.”
he understands what you’re saying, he gets it. doesn’t mean it still doesn’t sting. he kisses both your palms, holding your wrists. you feel soppy like a ball of emotions and bakugou doesn’t look any different.
“okay. tell me what i needa do too. you and i against the world, baby.”
that makes you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you and i, baby.”
after spending another fifteen minutes looking like you didn’t just come on his fingers, you and bakugou walk back into midoriya’s living room a metre apart.
uraraka has a shaky smile on, looking like prey in an ocean of sharks. izuku has a single eyebrow raised in suspicion and todoroki, well he’s completely neutral.
“you guys back together now?” the bi-haired pro hero asks.
“you were gone for a while,” your best friend offers, tilting her head for an answer.
a slow smile creeps on midoriya’s face, particularly focusing on his best friend beside you. how bakugou twitches, the permanent blush on his face and how his cream woollen jumper is zipped not quite all the way up, showing a little too much chest.
though he doesn’t say a word, he knows exactly what’s gone down.
you're first to shake your head, sitting next to midoriya whilst bakugou sits across from you on the sofa next to todoroki. you stare at your ex-boyfriend when you reply to your friends, pulling the sleeve of your jumper.
“no, we were just talking. had lots to say.”
bakugou bites his smirk, pulling on his best poker face as he spreads his legs apart and slouches on the sofa.
“mind your business,” is all he says, looking at your thighs so you cross them over in a panic.
todoroki laughs, “sure, like the tension in this room hasn’t changed.”
bakugou shoves his friend, “shut the fuck up.”
uraraka locks eyes with you on her arm chair, mouthing, “you okay?”
you nod, eyes practically twinkling. mouthing back, “i’m good.”
after the snappy back and forth between bakugou and todoroki, ruby eyes are back on yours with sappy adoration, knee bouncing and scratching the back of his head.
“see, you could barely talk about yn before and now you can’t take your eyes off her.”
“leave him, shouto!” midoriya blurts at the same time bakugou grunts, “get off my fuckin’ ass.”
todoroki deems his suspicions confirmed when bakugou climbs into your car at the end of the night.
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox
— when you come home drunk to your boyfriend, you’re horny. turns out his best friend wants to watch. you both allow it.
— smut, established relationship, izuku watches, everyone’s drunk, fingering, touching, kisses, you have a quirk!!, pro hero!au,
“what the fuck is that?”
bakugou’s glass only carries a sip of whiskey left but he discards it once he hears his front door rattling. the hero springs up to his feet, sparks shooting from his palm out of pure confusion.
“are you expecting anyone, kacchan?” midoriya, the explosive heroes best friend asks, still seated in bakugou’s office sofa. his eyes are alert, a classic crayon green, but his body stays slumped. he swishes the vodka in his glass around, then places it down on the cherry oak side table.
“no? who the fuck can even get past my security?”
“i can’t sense any danger coming from them.”
it’s until the door shakes again, then a clash of metal keys on concrete on the other side. there’s a soft whine, then a groan and then another attempt of stuffing a key into the lock. bakugou’s shoulders drop but cheeks raise slightly.
“definitely no danger coming from her.”
there’s no sound of the door unlocking just you now in his hallway. a clunk of shoes being dragged off your feet, your bag being thrown down. a few mumbles from you.
“stupid key. i hate keys. i feel bad for all the people that have to use them.”
“wasn’t she supposed to be back later?” midoriya asks and bakugou shrugs as he shifts to sit back in his seat.
“yeah,” he chuckles, “three, two, one—,”
“‘ki!” you shout, “‘ki, where are you?”
he doesn’t even have to reply because you appear in the room, using your quirk to walk through walls.
you’re still in your winter jacket and he can tell immediately— you’re drunk. your eyes are lazed, so pretty but sleepy and you have a silly grin on your face at the sight of your boyfriend. your hands come out to grab him, finger tips bending playfully.
“hey babygirl,” bakugou says and it’s only midoriya who notices the soft look in his best friend’s eyes. how bakugou’s shoulders relax at your presence, his body completely facing you. his feet twitching to move closer. he could probably write pages of notes on the difference in bakugou katsuki after he met you, including the way he lets out a deep exhale simply at the sight of you.
“hey gorgeous. i missed you,” you reply, then, “hey izuku, you kids just hanging out?”
you giggle at your own words, eyeing the glasses of alcohol they have. then bakugou who looks so gorgeous. like it’s your first time meeting him. your hand wafts up to stroke his cheek.
“hmm,” midoriya hums, “always lovely to see you, yn.”
“i was expectin’ you later, otherwise i woulda kicked him out.”
midoriya only rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his drink.
you grin, “i was going to… i was having fun but then i thought of you here and then i remembered you gave me your key even though you didn’t have to and… i dunno i just missed you.”
you’re slightly wobbly on your feet, eyes shiny with intoxication. you steady your hand on the office chair bakugou is on but alcohol and your quirk never go well together, causing your hand to fall through the object. bakugou is quick to catch you with his hands on your hips. your scream stills in your throat and even midoriya chuckles in the background. bakugou shifts you to sit on his lap, your legs hanging across his legs. lastly, he reaches around to pull your jacket off.
“i missed you too,” bakugou whispers, because midoriya is right there, looking at him, with a goofy look in his eye.
“fuck off. wait until you get a girlfriend,” he curses and midoriya just laughs.
you lay back on bakugou. your head on his shoulder, your hands running up his chest to keep warm. bakugou hikes you up onto his lap by your thighs and you instinctively peck his neck.
“no i get it kacchan. you two are a beautiful couple.” the number one hero tilts his head at you, his hand gripping his thigh then releasing.
bakugou can’t translate it.
“oh my gosh, kacchan. kacchan. wait and deku. i love how you guys have nicknames for each other. it’s so cute. kacchan,”
bakugou looks down at you at the sound of his name, though odd coming from your lips.
“you call me ‘ki,” he rumbles. you can feel the vibration of his words from his chest.
you nod slowly, sitting up slightly. “can i have a kiss ‘ki?”
bakugou bites down on his lip, your hand flying up to his stubbled chin. he wants to, obviously. but he can feel his best friend’s focus on him, even as he pours himself another shot.
“katsuki please,” you push and you’re not going to cry but suddenly he can imagine it. hot tears streaming down your face if he doesn’t give into you, just a simple little kiss. but the room feels warm, he’s sure you can smell the sweetness from his sweat.
you’re only asking because you’re drunk. you both are sorta the same with pda, especially in a room where there’s only one person watching. a front row show.
he gives in, obviously. “yeah, yeah,” though it’s just a peck. press of his lips on your pouted ones. two pecks. he licks his bottom lip after, chasing after the cherry taste of your gloss.
you look needy. you’re peering at him like deku isn’t even in the room. eyes slightly darkened, lips permanently pouted for more. you did come home early after all.
then he switches his gaze to midoriya, who is in no action to move right now. he doesn’t know what midoriya izuku looks like turned on but green eyes are flickering to his hand on your thigh and your hand on his chest. then your lips brushing against his neck.
what the fuck is happening here? he isn’t about to have sex with his girlfriend in front of his best friend, his colleague. isn’t this supposed to be a conversation or at least something he knows beforehand? again, what the fuck?
“a proper kiss,” you sniff, sitting up like you’re trying to crawl over him. your braids are tucked behind your ears, revealing the ruby earrings he got you at his week long work trip. “when do you ever peck me, dynamight?”
you poke his chest and he pulls you into him, a hand sneaking up to grip you by your ass under your skirt.
“baby.” he states like he’s reprimanding you. tilting his head to the other man in the room who is now sipping his vodka with his phone glowing in his other hand.
“oh, don’t mind me. i’m barely paying attention.”
but he is, bakugou can tell he is. and maybe for a split second bakugou wonders how far he can go with you until it’s enough. until someone gets up to leave or he can’t deal with his best friend seeing him and you like this.
“i know you fuckin’ are.”
you’re practically pawing at his chest now so bakugou saves you. slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss. a peck that parts your lips easily, your arms wrapping around his neck and crushing yourself to him. your breasts pressed against him, even your legs twitching to wrap around his waist instead of just being over his lap.
his tongue swipes against yours and you’re so quick to moan in your state. you suck all the left over burnt whiskey from him, making the hero grunt and squeeze your ass.
it’s you who pulls away, back of your palm at your lips. your eyes are ablaze. only mouthing his name because sound forgot to come out.
now midoriya is just holding his glowing phone screen but he’s staring at you and bakugou. his face neutral but everything else about him interested. bakugou can’t note down how midoriya is different right now but he can feel it.
you blink at bakugou before turning to midoriya, “what were you guys talking about before i got here?”
bakugou looks at midoriya’s crotch then to his eyes.
“work shit,” bakugou grunts in your ear, kissing your shoulder but keeping sight on his friend.
“yeah! we have a mission to prepare for soon.”
“no reminiscing about the old days then?” you say, your hand cradling bakugou’s neck. you’re like glue kissing the corner of bakugou’s lips.
midoriya studies you actions. how your ass shifts on bakugou’s lap. you fingers linking with his.
“nah none of that. we do that all the time.”
“are you guys drunk?” bakugou knows you want him. bad. your breathing is slow, relaxed, like you want to take your time with him. “you don’t look like it.”
bakugou hums, kissing your palm, “no. we’ve had less than half a glass. not like you, i can taste all the margaritas you’ve had.”
you giggle again, “stop katsuki.” you’re all floaty and sweet, clinging onto your boyfriend like your life depends on it.
“do you have a girlfriend yet, izuku? i have some friends that think you’re cute.”
bakugou watches how midoriya looks away, then shrugs and then looks at your hand on his chest. does he have a crush on you? would midoriya want to watch him and you have sex?
“no. i don’t think i’m looking for anything now. i don’t know how kacchan has time for you and work.”
bakugou sneaks his hand up your skirt, slipping his hand between your tight thighs. he’s right near your heat. he swipes a single finger over your clothed intimates and you shudder. it’s as if you don’t realise midoriya can see you both right now.
you flustered on top of bakugou. bra strap fallen, top revealing your stomach and your cleavage at once. your thighs and ass all revealed to him yet your crotch covered by your skirt. though he knows where bakugou is touching you. how you clench bakugou’s shirt like you want to rip it off him. you want to rub yourself over bakugou, dry hump him until your patience wears off and your slick crotch is over his dick.
midoriya can see this. he’d watch the rest. he can look and not touch. he is such a lightweight. the vodka bottle beside him isn’t the cheap kind he tried in his early twenties but an expensive flavourful imported bottle that makes the rancid medicinal taste of vodka lean smoother. tasteful. it’s currently a quarter gone.
“it’s ’cause he loves me. he’d do anything for me, really.” you say to midoriya looking at bakugou.
bakugou needs to clear the room. give you what you want. then you do move but to wrap your legs around bakugou’s waist, seated on his lap. he begins to harden beneath his black slacks, especially when you seat yourself over him.
“you need to go, deku.”
you start to rock your hips over bakugou and his hand grips your waist as his other hand goes to hold his glass of whiskey. he just wants to throw back whatever is left in the glass.
“ten minutes.”
that snaps bakugou out of his lust for you, just for a minute. “hah? you wanna watch my girlfriend come? you’re not seein’ her.”
“i don’t mind,” you say to your boyfriend, “i just want you.”
bakugou’s looking at your wanting face, that damned damp patch on your panties and his needy best friend seated before him, watery eyes just like his drunk girlfriends. for fuck sake.
“cmon kacchan,” midoriya whines, almost uncharacteristically and bakugou just wants to do what he wants.
the whiskey splashes down his throat and the buttery after taste makes him slouch further in his chair.
“fuck,” bakugou slurs, “whatever.”
you laugh, beginning to rock your hips over bakugou’s crotch. your hips flick beautifully, hands clutching at bakugou’s shoulders.
“i don’t wanna see your fuckin’ dick, deku. you’re just watchin’.”
he pours another shot of whiskey in his glass. he offers it to you first which you happily take. but as soon as it’s swallowed you wince, your face scrunching up like you drank poison.
“nasty, ‘ki.”
bakugou responds by yanking you to him by the chin, pressing a wet kiss to your mouth. “i like it on you.”
“and that’s the expensive stuff. we need to make you a cocktail.” you smile sweetly resuming your grinding on his crotch. you pull your top up over your head and put his hand on your bare waist.
midoriya groans behind you and you flutter your eyelashes up at bakugou.
“he can shut the fuck up ‘cause you’re fuckin’ beautiful. even when you’re drunk fallin’ through chairs.”
“obviously,” you reply.
bakugou pours another glass and drinks it in one go. then he gets to work, biting and nibbling over your breasts in your grey push up bra. you gasp, arching into his face.
“fuck!”
his tongue swipes after a harsh nibble and the pain shoots into pleasure to your clit. your fingers claw through his wheat blonde locks, clutching a tuft of hair.
midoriya knows deep down he shouldn’t be here. it’s perverted watching another couple be so in love and not be involved at all. his wrist twitches involuntarily, dying to touch himself. he just rests his hand over his crotch. what even are the benefits to being number one hero when number two gets this?
“you guys look so good.”
“shut up, idiot.” “thanks deku!”
two fingers sneak into your underwear as spit covers your breasts. bakugou’s a little drunk, he’d admit that now. or tipsy, like you’d say. it’s causing him to be messier than usual but the teeth marks on your chest are so satisfying.
bakugou does one swipe between your legs, collecting as much wetness to rub over your clit. then you truly crumble. the touch is exactly what you’ve wanted this whole time. the reason you left your friends early to see your boyfriend. it soothes your whole body, pleasure rising like heat through your limbs.
“oh, oh. i wanna come so bad,” you mumble, bringing bakugou into a kiss that’s only tongue. loud and wet, smiling into it when bakugou slides his fingers into you. then you’re bouncing up and down till the squelch between your legs is just as loud as your mouths. “yes, yes. this is exactly what i needed. fuck.”
you fling your head back like you did when you took the shot yet this time your mouth stays open, hums and whines and moans falling out all at different times.
a rough hand squeezes your ass and the pain only makes you wetter.
“my baby loves it doesn’t she. fuck, she loves everythin’ i do to her.” he keeps his fingers curled, sliding in and out against your walls, “you don’t even give a fuck he’s there.”
bakugou chuckles, sexy and harsh. you laugh too because he is, “no, i don’t. you feel too good inside me.”
midoriya clutches his dick beneath his trousers, frowning but still hard despite what you both say. he slides his hand under his trousers just on top of his boxers. he’s still not touching himself really. you both aren’t paying attention to him anyway.
then you gasp sharply, your forehead lightly coated with sweat. your breasts are falling out your bra now both your straps have fallen. your skirt has shifted awkwardly, all the fabric at the back so bakugou can see exactly what he’s doing.
“i’m gonna come, baby.”
“go on. then i can kick him out.”
the permission drives you crazy, making you clench around bakugou’s thick fingers and your hands bunch up the fabric on bakugou’s shoulders. it’s as if another version of you takes over, one who’s just chasing for the high despite the burn in your knees and one who enjoys there being an onlooker. someone watching you fall apart because of your boyfriend.
you both look sexy. the soft curve of your ass and his chunky biceps. the pretty slope of his nose and the shape of your lips. you’re even partly aware of how your back must look, arched and smooth with your bra straps fallen down.
then you’re mindful of how you look to your boyfriend with your skirt flipped up and his fingers thrusting inside of you. how intimate it is when he looks down at the gloss on your thighs and back into your half lidded eyes. you’ll realise later how there are hickeys on your tits like you’re in college again.
the release feels like fireworks beneath your skin, then being doused in warm soothing water. you keep riding him throughout, the sweet hums of bakugou coaching you through it.
“so beautiful baby. yeah, all on my fingers. c’mon now.”
then you collapse in a heap on bakugou’s lap and bakugou is careful to make sure all your limbs are on him so there’s no issues with you falling off the armrest. he needs to do some more quirk practice with you.
“fuck, you guys are something else.”
bakugou snaps to reality, cradling your back as you catch your breath. “can you get the fuck out now?”
midoriya rises to his feet, adjusting his t-shirt and trousers in the process. he can barely make eye contact with his best friend and definitely not you. “we… uhh, like i’ll give you the documents next week—,”
bakugou groans, running his hand over his face. “bro get out. we won’t mention this again, yeah?”
“bye deku,” you mumble, nuzzling your nose in bakugou’s neck. then you whisper something to him that midoriya can’t hear.
synopsis: you and the gang are on a winter cabin holiday! though you’re now forced to share a bunk bed with your boyfriend because you forgot to tell them you were dating
cw: smut, minors dni.
“well, it is your fault for keeping your relationship a secret for so long. how was i supposed to know you’d want to share a bed?”
your friend kirishima directs this question to your boyfriend bakugou as all three at you stare at an old wooden rickety bunk bed. you were the first one to be down for a cabin holiday with your friends at the end of the year. marshmellow roastings, campfires, gloves, hot chocolate and kisses on the tip of your nose. until you realised you were slow to tell your friends you’ve actually been dating the grumpy blonde and now you’re stuck sharing a teeny tiny room with a bunk bed you hope can fit him.
honestly to you, it wasn’t that big of a deal. you were still in a room with him but you were sure that if bakugou stared at the bed any longer, it would set on fire. he’d be happy about that too.
“but you still made us share a room? shoulda got us two separate rooms with bigger fuckin’ beds,” he grunts, crossing his arms across his chest with his black suitcase on his right and your suitcase on his left.
kirishima laughs with a shrug, “that was on kaminari, he thought making you share would push you guys to be together. guess you both were way ahead of us.”
you roll your eyes with a grin while bakugou grunts.
“well i’m taking top bunk. i’m not letting you crush me during the night,” you announce, hanging up your jacket and pushing your suitcase to the ground to get ready for bed.
“i’ll leave you both to it then, see you in the morning!”
after saying your goodnight to the red head, you look up to find your boyfriend still frowning.
“i want another room. i’ll go out and find a hotel,” he states, shaking his head.
“we are on a cabin holiday with our friends. we are not leaving the cabin, katsuki.”
the room was sweet and cosy despite the sleeping situation. a tiny television with more bezel than screen hanging on the wall with a single desk and chair. the room smelt of cranberries and chocolate and you loved the feeling of the rug between your toes. you were even lucky enough to get an en-suite bathroom and you know the rooms your friends were sharing didnt have those.
bakugou grunts again, kicking off his slippers and plopping down on the floor with you. he’s wearing a black fisherman’s jumper paired with grey joggers after a long day of travelling and you’re never one to lie, he looks cute and adorable. his glasses hang from his jumpers neckline and he stretches his legs across the floor and you realise how small the room actually is.
“i swear i’m taller than this fuckin’ room,” he mumbles and you stand up, fresh pyjamas in your hands and stuffing your hand in his face.
he snuggles behind your hand, a mumbled, “hey!” escaping.
“i’m gonna shower and once i’m back you’re gonna stop moaning, ‘ki.”
he scrunches his nose pulling your hand away to study you from your feet to your head. his smirk is slow and sexy like a flower blooming, sharp canines and a handsome face. you’re lightheaded.
“how about i join you? that would make me better, princess.”
you huff, shaking away the desire. “no.” you confirm, before closing the door behind you.
your first night routine has gone beautifully fine in the cabin. paired with your new ginger eye cream and gingerbread body cream, fitting for the cold weather. as soon as you came out the shower, bakugou was ready to have his and during his shower, you’ve been in bed reading a new book. tucked under the covers, the wall lamp on casting a yellow glow. you’re warm and toasty wearing your matching red tartan pyjamas, full from the meal you had earlier and actually looking forward to going asleep.
until your boyfriend emerges from the bathroom, only wearing the matching bottoms to your set. you’re allowed to so you scan his upper body. the dips and curves of his chest, the tattoos sneaking up his side, how soft and dewy his skin looks, up to his face giving you the same glare he gave the bed before.
“you’re not actually sleepin’ up there are you?”
you laugh, “we can’t both fit on a single bed. you can barely fit on a single on your own.”
he walks to your bunk, and you realise again, how big he is compared to your room. he’s still managing to look down at you as you lay on the top bunk and the thought makes your heart race.
bakugou ignores what you say, “sleep in the lower bunk with me.”
he could inch forward and kiss you in this position. you sigh longingly at the smell of him, fresh and sweet after the shower, hair swiped back to show his forehead.
you must be staring at his mouth because he holds your chin and places a kiss horizontal on your mouth.
“it’s gonna be the worst sleep of our lives if we share a single bed.”
“it’s never a bad sleep if you’re beside me.”
“i’m gonna be on top of you, there’s gonna be no space to be beside you.”
he grins, resting a muscled arm on the wooden structure of your bed, “fine by me.”
you breathe a laugh through your nose, not giving him the satisfaction of a real laugh. you continue to stare at him in silence, waiting until he gives up.
it’s not really a staring contest as much as it is waiting for the other to break somehow. staring at his ruby eyes, the slit in his right eyebrow. the two silver hoop piercings in each ear and the tattoo on his collarbone. his white teeth biting down into his plush bottom lip. he looks beautiful even in your bright ass yellow book light and you’re so close to giving in when he says, “fine.”
you nod at him with a smile, “good.”
“lemme have a kiss though.”
it’s like he knows you a little too well. he knows you’re about to give him a proper kiss, like sleeping just below you is way too far away. you sit up, resting on your forearm and sliding your hand across his stubbled cheek. then your lips press to his. twice. until he bites down on your bottom lip for you to open your mouth. it’s the type of long, tongue tangled kiss he’d give you when he’s going away on a mission for too long. way too dramatic and sensual for a goodnight in the same room.
the kiss has you craning in for more and he gives it all to you as his hand cradles the back of your head. you twist your head, nose almost nudging against his as he licks across your tongue, sucking and unsurprisingly, a low moan comes from your mouth.
you could never say bakugou katsuki is a bad kisser because that would be a lie. at least you can say you’ve made him better.
the moan seems to be the red light to stop, as bakugou pulls away from you, pecking your forehead as you stare at him dopey eyed. he wipes his bottom lip with the back of his hand and smiles at you. it’s sexy and makes you rub your thighs together, “see you tomorrow, baby.”
katsuki’s about to let go of your hand but you hold it tighter, making him raise an eyebrow.
one long kiss is enough to make you crave him, make you wanna press your skin to his and rock back and forth on any body part he allows you to.
you sigh longingly before sliding into your classic horny whines, “but there’s no space!”
his loud chuckle doesn’t make you shy, you’ve both long past the point of being shy. his pupils twinkle the same way they do when he’s feeling particularly cocky or when he’s won some type of game. you know that means he won this little tug and pull between you, all to lure you into his bed.
“if you want somethin’ real bad, baby, you can always make it work.”
any other time you’d roll your eyes, laugh at him being all quotable and deep but you’d much rather his face between your legs.
“but—,”
he taps the space twice where the ladder starts, the gap where you slide onto your bed. “open your legs here.”
there’s no question to it because he’ll know you’ll say yes. though he cutely shrugs, moving to scratching the back of his head, “i was thinkin’ about it in the shower. new position to eat you from.”
he runs his tongue across his bottom teeth, refusing to break eye contact with you.
“yeah, go on then.” you smile, shuffling to sit up and hang your legs off the bed.
bakugou chuckles, looking up at you sitting much taller than him. “i don’t have to babe, you don’t sound excited.”
“hey!” you giggle, locking your legs around his shoulders and dragging him closer. you slide your palm on his jaw, thumb rubbing against his cheek, “first time i’ve been taller than you.”
you press a kiss to the corner of your lover’s lips, before squeezing them between your finger and thumb. he only blinks slowly before shaking his head at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen.
“yeah, yeah, take off your bottoms,” he whispers and you do what you’re told.
you shuffle off the fabric, throwing them behind you on your bed as bakugou’s hands find your thighs.
“can’t believe we aren’t sharin’ a fuckin’ bed,” he mumbles to himself but as soon as your hands rake through his hair, he begins to kiss up your thighs, nibbling slightly up to your centre where your legs press together. “c’mon open up f’me.”
you hook your legs over the fences of your bunk bed, leaving your centre right in the gap for bakugou. you blink down at him, watching his every move. so sensitive before anythings even started.
the man before you hums, a slow smile rising on his cheeks. he stares at your pussy, your clit begging for his touch and the thin layer of wetness shining around your hole. he clicks his tongue, his hands holding your hips to stop you from moving, “so beautiful. y’know that don’t you?”
“touch me, katsuki,” you demand, leaning back on your forearms, heart already racing. you’re all open and exposed before him, your patience wearing thin.
“you get snappy when you wanna come,” he states annoyingly but just when you’re about to whine again, he tucks in.
two large palms grip at your thighs to spread you open as he licks one long stripe. you lean back on your forearms at the tingle of pleasure, your breath is already heavy.
bakugou hums into you, sucking on your clit and then licking across it before going back to sucking. he knows what gets you going, he even glances up to check your face is doing exactly what he thought. head lolled back with your mouth open. your eyes snap open when two curled fingers enter you and brush along your walls.
“oh fuck baby,” you whine, sparks of warmth shooting down every part of you. you start to get twitchy, pushing your hips up into his face and bakugou lifts his head, mouth shiny from you.
“so perfect, you know. my lil gift,” and he’s done this to you so many times that he can tell you’re close. your forearms holding you up are shaky, your leg is curling around his neck and you can barely keep your eyes open.
“more,” you urge, fingers sinking into his hair to push him towards your centre.
bakugou rolls his eyes but obeys, louder and much more precise than before. “cmon come for me, princess. lemme see it.”
you hold his head between your legs like a prisoner, trapped unless he sends you to bliss. his words turn you on even more, the last lick he swipes across your clit how you coming all around his fingers and mouth.
you slam your hand over your mouth to cover the noises but bakugou is never one to care if anyone hears. he works you through it all with small, “beautiful baby.” “gorgeous.”
you fling yourself back on the bed behind you with a soft giggle as bakugou kisses your thighs and goes to wipe your mouth.
“you good up there?”
your smile weaves within your voice, “yeah. just thinking how are we going to have sex on your bunk.”
bakugou sucks on his finger then pops it out his mouth. he doesn’t go to wipe you down, all the better when—, “you’re gonna be on top of me baby.”
you begin to climb down the bunk, legs so shaky they bakugou holds onto your sides. you’re only in your plaid pyjama top, with a gloss on your thighs. bakugou doesn’t think he could get any harder.
“hate being on top,” you whine like the princess you are though bakugou laughs, yanking off all his clothes.
“i do all the work anyway,”
and he does. he lays back on his tiny, single mattress, his hands holding your hips and practically controlling your whole body. you’re in a different world. completely naked, top flung to the floor somewhere as he slams your hips up and down to meet his own thrusts.
the wet skin slapping is loud and only turns you on more with the sight of his tensed biceps doing everything.
you can barely hold yourself up, stuffing your head in the crook of his neck.
“mind your head,” bakugou grunts and he’s sure your ass is gonna be sore from how he’s holding you.
“you feel so good. you’re so big inside me,” you moan before dropping your lips on his.
he keeps thrusting up into you as your hands grasp at his face. you’re swallowing his every breath as your own, sucking on his tongue wet and messy. bakugou moans down your throat, a sign he’s close.
lightening sparks through you, a rope beginning to snap. “i’m gonna come.” you mumble across his lips, then it gets teary and desperate, “i really need to come, katsuki.”
his name. you pull away to watch his flushed cheeks, the intense heaving of his chest, the sweat beads at his hairline. if you’re working out a prohero this hard, you wonder what sex other people are having.
“love you so fuckin’ much.” he mumbles, biting down on his lip to keep up the pace. your finger curls around his neck without meaning to but nobody goes to move it.
“love you too,” you reply and then you snap, a loud moan rips through you as your orgasm does. you spill all over bakugou’s cock, clenching as you do.
bakugou is over immediately after you say your last word, a low growl as he releases, rolling his hips in two final jolts.
you both are a sweaty mess, not any space for him to even slip out of you so you just lay on top of him taking a breather. bakugou’s arm hangs off the side of the bed as he hugs you to him with his other arm.
“i won’t lie babe. probably top five sex with you.”
you snort obnoxiously but bakugou loves it. “a tight bunk bed we both can’t fit in?”
bakugou hums, pecking your forehead, “yeah. love having you all over me.”
and what’s insane is you feel him hardening inside you again. “hold on, we can go again in a second.”
“no rush princess, we have five days here. can try out all the tightest positions.”
I've been to a wedding recently and when it was time for slow dancing of the couples ... omg bakugo would NOT leave my damn mind !
like , the whispers of admiration between us , slight giggles when things become too cheesy , maybe stealing kisses , teasing eachother AAAA I CANT OMG
you always picture things perfectly , the emotions , expressions , charactaristics , everything !!
would you please write sth on it ? if you want to do so too , of course 😅
you wrote this in september 24 and i want to write rn so im writing this lol
“you wanna dance, huh?”
your boyfriend is facing you as you face the couples dotted around the dance floor. you’re at your baby cousins wedding, filled with childhood friends and family and it’s been the sweetest, most emotional day ever. you were lucky enough to be chosen as a bridesmaid, still donning a beautiful long baby pink silk dress.
bakugou loves it, keeps running his hand down your sides just to feel the silk across his skin and staring at you from top to bottom. you feel gorgeous, he makes you feel gorgeous and he looks gorgeous in his sharp tailored black suit which you know probably cost more than all the dresses put together.
you’re nodding, rapidly staring at the couples. piano renditions of pop songs play in the background and it only lives to make you swoon. you sigh, “i do.”
then you stand without warning and with a big sigh, bakugou copies you. he hates dancing even though he’s actually pretty good at it. naturally gifted at everything he is which would make you jealous if it was anyone else but comes in so handy with him.
“fuckin’ hate doin’ this in front of people.” he snatches your hand to drag you to the centre of the floor.
“but you’re gonna do it for me,” you state with a smile so bright, the twinkles from the disco ball above you are put to shame.
“always for you,” he mumbles as he stops, sliding his arms around your waist as yours link behind his neck.
together, you sway. chests pressed, his large hands hot on your waist. to you, bakugou katsuki is pure comfort. a word nobody will use for him but you. he’s warm toasty comfort. a person you can completely be you around, showing up as every version of yourself and he’ll be there with open arms. even dancing in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by your family and friends, knowing everyone is watching.
though, you work as his shield. safe around you and will die to protect you all at once. if you like it, he loves it. his mantra.
“i hate how you’re so good at dancing. you make me look bad at this.” you whisper. you’re unsure why you’re whispering but it seems fitting since you’re so close.
he kisses the corner of your lips, “shut up. you make me look good, everyone’s been starin’ at you. i’ve been eyeing your fuckin’ old friends.”
“you can’t say that when there’s a literal bride here, ‘suki.”
“i can when i can’t even tell you what colour she’s wearin’.” then he gives a cute little smile, “you’re wearin’ candyfloss pink though. fuckin’ pretty in pink.”
“all six of us bridesmaids are.”
“and you’re the only pink i see.”
you giggle, resting your forehead on his shoulder for a pause. “i love you.”
“i love you too. we’re gonna be next.”
you lift your head up in a frown, “married?”
your boyfriend shrugs, “yeah, why not?”
you narrow your eyes, “you better not be proposing to me at a wedding.”
“don’t think so lowly of me, princess.” he chuckles and you watch his adam’s apple bob. his tie has gone missing from the ceremony earlier and he’s got three buttons undone. he’s giving a sexy bachelor look right now but he’s also been by your side or staring at you whenever he couldn’t be. “we are just talkin’ about it. there’s no way you thought i wasn’t gonna marry you.”
“you actually want to marry me?”
you’re not sure why you ask. you’ve never felt love the way you have with bakugou, so complete and sure. you couldn’t imagine what other traits you’d want your dream lover to have because bakugou truly, truly has them all.
he kisses you. it’s a peck because so many people are around and you’re quick to pout back at him. he huffs like you’re a bother but you’re anything but. he takes your chin between his finger tips to plant a kiss on your lips. he’s still playing safe, no tongue but the contact makes you dizzy all the same.
“you think i’d waste my time with a woman i’m not going to marry? i have goals, baby. making you mine forever is one of them.”
you giggle softly, “you’re so cheesy. i’m still yours forever without a ring on my finger.”
bakugou’s eyes turn to the shape of crescent moons as he watches you, so smiley that if the paps were around they’d be making thousands. “but a rock on your finger would be fuckin’ sick, wouldn’t it?”
you purse your lips like you’re thinking about it but one poke to your ticklish side and you’re falling into his arms in laughter again.
“yes, yes, possibly, maybe.”
your boyfriend hums, lifting his arm so you can twirl before him. pink swirls below you like a flower blooming and puzzle pieces begin to fall into place for bakugou all at once. he needs to get a ring on your finger, immediately.
your palm lands back on his chest, back into a side step, “can’t wait to take advantage of our fridge in the hotel. it’s all been paid for!”
bakugou rolls his eyes, not fighting how endeared he is by you.
having sex with katsuki and he’s just extra sensitive that day, feeling every emotion so much so he’s basically making love to you at this point
he doesn’t notice it himself at first but, he starts praising you in japanese and it catches you off guard but also turns you on ten times more lol
this is a big nom nom nom to me. big nom nom nom. i was saving this to potentially write but we can talk about it.
defo missionary right. and it’s all slow and SENSITIVE and he’s noisy above you. grunting and groaning. moving hair out of your face so he can look you in the eye. asking him to adjust your leg to put on his shoulder and he’s deep and you’re about it to start crying and wailing about how much you love him.
and it’s not like anything crazy has happened today. he hasn’t seen you in two days and he had a long draining day at work and more draining days to come and he’s missed you. needs to let off this stress. you were all over him, can never get enough of his pretty face and all that he does for you.
and maybe it starts in english like he always is with you. it being your shared language after all. the usual, “i love you so fuckin’ much.” then “shit, feels so good.” “needed this, baby.” “hmm?” “doin’ so well for me.” then he’s making these incoherent sounds. kissing your moans away and nodding to everything you say.
and you’re not sure what exactly makes him switch but it’s when he buries his head in your neck. nipping the thin skin there, bending your legs, deep inside you feel as if he’s in your stomach. now you’ve got no clue what he’s saying. you know it’s his language though.
you only realise after the second phrase. blinking away your watery eyes as you rock into him, crossing your legs tighter around his back.
then he’s mumbling something else. another phrase. repeating a sentence twice into your neck.
you mostly hear him speak it over the phone. to his parents, family and his childhood friends. sometimes the lady at the local asian supermarket. video call meetings with his agency back in japan. sometimes a couple pet name in japanese if he’s feeling cute, he saves that for date nights.
but never during sex in your ear while he’s buried inside you. you clench and his breath hitches.
his voice is deeper, earthier. more natural and flows out without effort or second thought. you can’t even attempt to translate it. perhaps a swear in there somewhere?
“‘tsuki…. baby…,” you don’t mean to whine but there’s no way you can say anything right now and it doesn’t come out with pleasure attached.
he lifts his head up. droopy sleepy eyes, bitten lips. he replies to you with a thrust, one that has you arching your back.
“i don’t know what you’re saying!” you wail, linking your hands around his neck and your boyfriend blinks at you.
“oh s-shit,” he utters, taking hold of your hips to keep you still. it’s as if you can see the memory of a second ago replaying in his mind. “didn’t realise i did that.” then he laughs stuttered and hoarse, “you’ve got me fucked up.”
he drops his eyes to where you’re connected. his cock, coated in your wetness, sliding out of your core before he pushes back in again. your eyes flutter shut when he does, hand reaching out for him, “‘tsuki….”
“was sayin’ you’re beautiful and i love you and i love when we fuck.” he grins like a man insane, which he’d only say he is with how much he loves you. “never wanna leave here with you.”
you’re all breathy, chest rising and falling with an orgasm around the corner. “s-so sappy,” you manage to smile, eyes still closed to catch up, “felt like y-you were keeping secrets from me.”
he shakes his head, adjusts your leg on his shoulder. he needs to come soon also, he’s been holding it off for too long now. “never baby. lemme make you come.”
how about a hughie smut? emotional rollercoaster? crying, sobbing, making up!!
just you, just this
pairing: hughie biggs x fem!reader
tw: smut, angst
a/n: mb for not posting in a bit
masterlist !
you notice it before he even says a word.
his shoulders are tense the way they get when something’s weighing on him, head down, jaw set, pacing the room like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. you’ve been here before, in moments like this with hughie—when the world is pressing down and he doesn’t know how to let you in without biting you first.
“you’re quiet,” you say softly, from your spot on his bed, legs curled underneath you, hoodie sleeves tugged down over your hands. “want to talk about it?”
“not really.”
his voice is clipped.
you swallow that. you’re not surprised.
but it still stings a little.
“okay,” you murmur, “we can just sit, then.”
you give it a beat, then two, watching the way he keeps tossing his phone from hand to hand like he’s barely stopping himself from launching it at the wall.
“is it the game?” you try gently. “or school?”
“jesus christ.” he spins around, voice sharp. “can you stop?”
the words hit you harder than they should. your body goes still.
“stop what?”
“this—hovering. asking a million questions like you’re my mam.”
your lips part, shocked. “i’m worried about you.”
“i don’t need you to be.”
you feel the air leave your lungs.
you don’t say anything for a moment, just blink and look down at your lap. the room feels cold now.
“you’re being a dick,” you say finally, quietly.
he runs a hand through his hair, pacing again. “i don’t need this right now.”
“you don’t need me, you mean.”
he laughs bitterly. “don’t turn this into some drama, jesus.”
your throat tightens, that horrible pressure building. he’s doing it again—pushing you out, freezing you off when all you want is to be close.
“you never tell me anything,” you say, voice rising slightly. “you just shut down and act like i’m the enemy.”
“maybe i just don’t want to be looked after like a fucking child every time i have a bad day.”
you blink at him, stunned. “i’m your girlfriend, hugh.”
“yeah, well, sometimes it doesn’t feel like that. it feels like i’ve got another person waiting for me to screw something up so they can swoop in and fix it.”
you go still. the words cut, deep and unkind.
“is that really what you think of me?”
he doesn’t answer. doesn’t look at you.
and you can’t take it. not the silence, not the distance, not the way he’s turning you into someone you’re not just to protect himself.
“fine,” you say, getting up. “if that’s what you want, i’ll go. i’ll stop hovering. i’ll leave you alone.”
“that’s not what i—”
“you don’t get to pull this and then backtrack, hugh. not tonight.”
your voice cracks at the end, but you don’t let the tears fall. not here. not in front of him.
you reach the door.
he doesn’t move. doesn’t call your name.
you wait a second longer than you should, hoping for something—anything.
it never comes.
the door clicks shut behind you.
—
two days.
that’s how long it’s been.
no texts, no calls—course there wouldn’t be. not like either of ye have mobiles anyway. it’s been two full days of not seeing him at school, not bumping into him in town, not even hearing his name mentioned by the others.
you’ve stopped scanning the footy pitch for his curls. stopped walking past the chipper just in case he might be there. not ‘cause you’re over it—just ‘cause it’s starting to hurt more than it helps.
claire’s been watching you. not saying much, but she’s got those big eyes that seem to clock everything. she’d nudged your shoulder in english, whispered something like, “still not talkin’ to ya?” but you only shook your head, lips tight.
you told her it wasn’t a big deal.
you’re not sure if you believe that anymore.
you keep thinking back to the way he looked at you.
cold.
like you were in his way. like you were the enemy.
and that…
that doesn’t feel like hughie.
—
he’s not been sleeping. not properly.
he’s been walking to school alone. keeping his head down in class. the lads’ve started noticing, making comments that don’t quite land—johnny elbowed him in the side yesterday and said something like, “what’s got your knickers in a twist then, hugh?”—but hughie just muttered something about a headache and left it there.
truth is—
he misses you.
but more than that, he’s ashamed.
ashamed of how he’d raised his voice. of how he’d twisted your softness into something weak.
he knew, even as the words left his mouth, that he was being unfair.
but when he gets in that head, when the pressure’s tight in his chest, when rugby feels more like a noose than a lifeline—he lashes out.
and it’s always the people he loves most.
you’d only been trying to help.
he sees that now. clear as day.
and still—he’d looked at you like you were the problem.
he’s a gobshite.
he knows it.
but he doesn’t know how to fix it.
doesn’t know how to look you in the eye and say, i’m sorry for not being the boy you deserve.
doesn’t know if you’d even want him to try.
still—
saturday afternoon, hands deep in his hoodie pocket, he finds himself walking to your door.
every step feels heavier than the last.
by the time he reaches your stoop, his throat’s dry and his heart’s rattling round his ribs.
he knocks.
twice.
you open the door, hair a little messy, jumper sleeves hanging over your hands. your eyes widen the second you see him—like maybe you didn’t expect he’d ever bother to show.
for a second, he thinks you’ll slam it shut.
but you don’t.
you just wait.
his voice is scratchy.
“i’ve been a feckin’ eejit.”
you cross your arms, expression unreadable.
“i know.”
he nods, jaw clenched.
“didn’t mean any of it. none of what i said was right. i just… i panicked. i’ve not been—myself, lately. and you were tryin’ to help, and i made you feel like you were doin’ wrong for carin’.”
you swallow. hard.
he keeps going.
“i’m not great at this stuff. never have been. but i miss you. i hate that i made you feel small.”
you breathe in, shaky and slow.
“you really hurt me, hugh.”
he nods again, eyes shining.
“i know. i hate that i did. and i swear to god, i’ll never let it happen again.”
you hesitate—because it’d be easier to stay mad, maybe even fairer—but the way he’s looking at you now, like he’d crumble if you turned him away…
you let the door open wider.
step aside.
he doesn’t say anything else.
he just walks in, brushing your hand with his as he passes.
his fingers find yours.
and they hold on.
—
so there you two are, sitting on your bedroom floor, knees pressed to your chest, arms looped round them like you’re bracing yourself for something.
he’s sitting opposite, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. he hasn’t looked away from you once.
it’s quiet. thick, almost. like if either of you spoke too loud it’d break.
but it doesn’t stay like that forever.
you sigh, eyes flicking up.
“you always do this.”
hughie’s brow furrows.
“do what?”
“you shut down. and then you shut me out.” your voice is gentler than your words. “and then you come back with this… this sadness in your eyes like i’m supposed to forget everything.”
he blinks.
“i don’t want you to forget it.”
you press your lips together.
“then what do you want?”
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice rough.
“i want to be better. not just for you. but because you make me want to be.”
you don’t move for a while. you just stare at him.
and he lets you.
and then—soft as anything—
you reach out, thumb brushing under his eye.
“you scared me,” you whisper. “when you raised your voice like that. it wasn’t you. and for a second, i thought maybe i didn’t really know you at all.”
his hand catches yours. he holds it gently, like it’s made of glass.
“you do,” he says. “you do know me. the best out of anyone. but i think that’s why it scared me, too.”
your brows pull in.
“why would that scare you?”
he shrugs, slow.
“‘cause if you know me, really know me, and you still choose to stay… then that means you love me. and if you love me, i’ve got more to lose.”
your throat gets tight.
not just at the words.
but the way he says them—like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for months.
you slide off your bed and into his lap. you feel the way his arms tighten round your waist like instinct.
he leans his forehead to yours.
and when he breathes your name, you know.
he’s never loved anything more.
not rugby. not winning. not even being loved back.
just you.
he kisses you slow.
not with urgency, not with need.
just softness. promise.
his hands move under your jumper, resting on your waist like he’s anchoring himself there. your fingers weave into his curls, tugging just enough to make him smile against your mouth.
he mumbles something against your skin.
“i’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ it up to you.”
you kiss the corner of his mouth.
“don’t need all that. just don’t do it again.”
“i won’t,” he says. “swear on feely’s mam.”
you laugh—quiet, nose brushing his.
and then you kiss him again.
and again.
his hands slide lower, his mouth drops to your throat, your fingers are bunching his jumper in fists.
but it’s not about sex.
not really.
it’s about closeness.
making sure you still fit.
making sure this still feels like home.
and it does.
it starts slow. always does with hughie. even when the air’s thick with want, even when your hands are in his hair and his mouth is at your neck, even when your thighs are already squeezing round his waist—he takes his time.
his hands are under your shirt, cold palms against warm skin, fingers curling like he’s scared you might slip away again.
you look down at him from where you’re straddling him on your bedroom floor, light from the hallway slanting across his face, and he looks like he’s never seen anything more important.
“i’ve got you,” he says. it’s barely a whisper.
you nod, but your voice breaks anyway.
“yeah.”
his mouth meets yours again, hotter this time. teeth grazing. lips dragging.
his hands slide up your back, unclipping your bra in a practiced motion that somehow still feels like worship. he doesn’t look down when you toss it aside—he keeps his eyes on you, like if he looks away, you might vanish.
he lays you back slowly, letting you pull him down with you. your legs wrap around his hips, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs.
his hand cradles your face as he kisses down your jaw, your throat, across your collarbones.
and then he stops.
just looks at you.
his voice is rough.
“you sure?”
“hughs,” you whisper, breath catching, “you’re all i’m sure about.”
you see it in his eyes—that split second where his whole chest cracks open with love for you.
and then his hand dips between your thighs.
he doesn’t tease—not tonight. he’s gentle, warm, steady. fingers finding where you’re already aching for him, stroking through slick like he’s trying to memorise every sound you make.
your hips rock up into his hand, quiet moans slipping from your lips. he watches you, drinking it in like it’s his first and last chance.
“fuck,” he mutters, kissing your cheek. “you’re so good. you always are.”
you arch your back when he slides two fingers in. he doesn’t speed up. just keeps the same rhythm, kissing your jaw and whispering into your skin.
“didn’t mean to scare you,” he breathes. “never again. you’re everything. d’you know that?”
you nod, too overwhelmed to speak. your hands are gripping his shoulders like you’ll fall apart if you let go.
he kisses you through it—mouth never leaving yours when you cum, gasping into him, walls pulsing around his fingers.
and even when you’re still trembling, even when your thighs are slick and your skin’s glowing, he’s still got that look on his face like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“can i—” he starts, but you’re already reaching for him, already nodding.
he pulls himself free of his jeans, cock flushed and hard and aching. he presses his forehead to yours again.
and when he slides into you, both of you gasp.
he’s slow. deeper than usual. not a single thrust wasted. every grind of his hips says i’m sorry. i love you. you’re mine.
you claw at his jumper, hips lifting to meet him, chasing the drag of him inside.
your voice cracks when you moan his name.
“hughs—”
his mouth catches yours before the sob can break through.
“i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”
and when you both come—shaking, holding each other like the world might split in two—it feels like being stitched back together.
after, he doesn’t move. just holds you, breathless, sweaty, legs tangled.
he kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “you’re it for me. always have been.”
you hum against his chest, and for the first time in days, you feel steady again.
꒰ 爆豪勝己 ꒱ › katsuki hates being loud in bed. mdni.
pro hero! bakugo x fem! reader. unprotected piv
for someone who’s so loud and cocky, katsuki is surprisingly quiet in bed. because he hates the sounds he makes, finds his own whimpers and groans pathetic and weak. he hates the way his control dissolves, the way his body betrays him with hitched breaths and feeble groans. every time a whimper ‘threatens’ to spill from his lips, he’s gulping it down, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
he kisses you like he’s trying to swallow the moans building in his own chest. his tongue sweeps into your mouth, not just to taste you, but to make sure you’re so full of him that no sound can escape.
“kats breathe,” you gasp when he finally lets you up for air.
“shut up,” he snarls, but there’s no heat beneath his words.
when you finally sink down onto him, taking him in inch by excruciating inch, his whole body goes rigid. a sharp hiss falls through his gritted teeth, and he immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, as if in shame. you can feel the vibration of his groan against your throat, a guttural sound he tries so, so hard to kill.
“fuck,” he breathes, a mere puff of air against your glistening skin. his hips remain still, even as his cock throbs inside you
when you start to ride him, his hands fly from your hips to your ass, then to your shoulders, anywhere he can get purchase, as if he’s physically trying to hold himself together. his breathing becomes harsh and uneven. you can hear the struggle in every inhale. his crimson eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration that has everything to do with not falling apart.
you love watching him like this. you love being the one to unravel him. you pick up the pace, rolling your hips in that way you know drives him wild, and you feel the tremor that starts in his thighs, the way his calloused fingers dig bruises into your perfect skin.
a sound that’s half-gasp, half-whimper, bubbles up, and katsuki immediately clamps his mouth down on your shoulder — using your body to silence his own.
he’s drunk on the copper leaking from your broken skin. he presses soothing kisses to your shoulder and it makes you clench even harder around him. that’s what finally makes him break. a moan tears from his throat, muffled by your flesh but unmistakable. a vulnerable sound that’s completely at odds with the explosive hero he is by day. it’s the sound of him stripped of all his defenses
and he hates it. you can feel the way he freezes for a moment, horrified by his own lack of control. “don’t—”
“don’t what ? don’t stop ?” you tease, rolling your hips again.
“stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that,” he’ll grumble, turning his face away even as his hands white-knuckle your hips, pulling you closer.
but you’re not having it. you reach back, tangling your fingers in his sweat-damp blond hair, and pull his gaze towards yours. “let me hear you,” you murmur “wanna hear how good i make you feel.”
“no,” he shakes his head, stubbornly, eyes squeezed shut. “can’t. it’s too damn embarrassing.”
“it’s hot” you counter, “you’re hot katsuki. now let me hear you.”
“don’t — hah — say shit like that” he groans. his hips, now freed from their self-imposed prison, thrust up to meet yours. his moans become more frequent, little whimpers and moans he can’t swallow, each one is followed by a tightening of his jaw, a rosy flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
“that’s it kats,” you encourage, “just like that.”
when you lean back, changing the angle just so, he finally, truly surrenders. his eyes fly open, wide and glazed with pleasure, and his mouth falls slack. a string of curses,spills from his lips. “fuuuck . . . you’re so—hck— damn you”
his face is completely red, and he’s so, so loud but he’s past the point of caring. his hips slam into yours, his movements losing all finesse, driven purely by need
“gonna. . fuck, baby. . i’m gonna—” he chokes out, and it’s the most warning you’ve ever gotten from him.
he cums with a strangled cry, your name a wanton mess on his lips. his whole body all but arches off the bed. the sounds he makes are muffled by your skin, but you feel them all the same—the whimpers, the groans, the exhausted panting. for a long moment, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing and the pounding of your own heart.
then, slowly, he relaxes, his body going limp against yours. you know he’s replaying every sound, every whimper, and cringing. you card your fingers through his hair, holding him close, and wait. eventually, he shifts, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your sternum before muttering against your skin, “that’s never gonna happen again”
you don’t have to say anything. you just smile, because you know that next time, when you’re skin against skin and joined together as one, you’ll break his silence all over again.
maybe i could request something with feely? i have such a hyper fixation on him its crazy! something fluffy smutty pls and thank you 💋
all for you
pairing: patrick feely x fem!reader
tw: it’s just smut
a/n: i’ve been on holidays mb for the content drought
masterlist !
you’re stretched out on feely’s bed, flicking through one of his rugby magazines while he’s down at the end of the room, pulling his jersey over his head.
“ya know, you’re not supposed to read those,” he teases, voice warm and low, hair sticking up in every direction. “they’re sacred.”
you grin, eyes sliding slowly down the planes of his chest. “right, because reading about fellas smashing each other on a pitch is deadly important information.”
“fuck off,” he laughs, tossing a rolled-up pair of socks at your face. “cheeky.”
he crawls onto the bed beside you, bracing his weight on his elbows, grin softening as his eyes drop to your mouth.
“ya look fuckin’ gorgeous,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your lower lip.
“do i?” you ask, voice small suddenly under the weight of his stare.
“yeah. ya do.”
he leans in, kissing you gently at first — slow, sweet, all warm lips and soft exhales. but you’re arching closer, fingers twisting in his hair, and he lets out a low groan.
“god, i missed ya,” he mutters against your mouth, pressing closer so your chest is flush to his.
“i was gone for two hours, pat.”
“too long.”
he kisses you again, rougher this time, hands slipping under your shirt. his fingers are warm and a little calloused from rugby, gliding over your skin like he can’t get enough.
“ya sure ya wanna…?” he mumbles, eyes searching yours, breath coming quicker.
you nod, swallowing hard. “yeah. i want you.”
“fuckin’ hell,” he groans, dropping his forehead to yours. “you’ll be the death of me.”
his hands are already tugging at the hem of your shirt, and your pulse stutters in your throat.
feely’s fingers slip under your shirt, warm and a little rough as they skim over your ribs. his breath hitches as he lifts the fabric higher, eyes darting up to yours like he’s checking a thousand times if this is still okay.
“tell me to stop if ya want, yeah?” he murmurs, voice gone husky.
“don’t stop,” you whisper, chest rising and falling so fast it’s dizzying.
he lets out a low groan, pressing a soft kiss under your jaw before pulling your shirt off entirely. his eyes go wide, cheeks flushing pink as he takes you in.
“fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathes, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
you’re about to tease him, but then his mouth is on your chest, kissing and sucking gently at your skin. you gasp, fingers threading through his messy hair as he works his way lower.
he pauses, looking up with that boyish grin. “ya know i love makin’ ya feel good, right?”
“i know,” you gasp, squirming as his thumbs brush over your nipples.
“good,” he says, voice rougher now. “’cause i’m not stoppin’ ’til ya can’t even remember your own name.”
his hands slide down your waist, tugging your jeans open, and you lift your hips to help him peel them off. his mouth drops open slightly when he sees the wet patch already darkening your underwear.
“jesus christ,” he mutters, pressing a kiss just above the waistband. “ya this worked up for me?”
you whimper, biting your lip as he drags your underwear down and tosses them aside.
“look at ya,” he breathes, eyes glued between your thighs. “fuckin’ perfect.”
he settles between your legs, shoulders pressing your thighs apart as he leans in and licks a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds.
your whole body jolts, a broken moan spilling out of you.
“oh my god, pat—”
“that’s it,” he mumbles, voice muffled as he dives back in. “just let me take care of ya.”
his tongue flicks and circles your clit, switching between gentle licks and firmer pressure that makes your toes curl. one of his hands comes up to hold your stomach steady, keeping you pinned as your hips try to buck.
“feely, please—”
“please what, love?” he teases, pulling back just enough to smirk at you. his lips and chin are shiny, flushed pink. “tell me what ya want.”
“i— fuck, don’t stop,” you gasp, reaching for his hair.
“wasn’t plannin’ on it.”
he dives back in, faster now, sucking lightly until your thighs clamp around his head. he hums in satisfaction, like he’s proud of himself, and the vibration sends you spinning.
“that’s my girl,” he rasps, pulling back to press wet kisses along your thigh. “gonna make ya cum so hard, yeah?”
you nod frantically, too far gone to speak, as he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right while his mouth finds your clit again.
your vision blurs as you tumble over the edge, crying out his name, and he doesn’t let up until you’re trembling all over.
you’re still shaking a little when he finally crawls up beside you, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. he brushes a damp strand from your forehead and leans down to kiss you — soft, like he’s scared you might break.
“ya alright?” he murmurs, voice rough but sweet.
you nod, a little dazed, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt and tugging him closer.
“c’mere,” you whisper, and he obeys instantly, wrapping you in his arms like he’s afraid someone’ll come in and try to take you away.
“ya were unreal,” he says, pressing his face into your neck. “like… actually unreal.”
you laugh softly, fingers curling around his bicep. “you weren’t so bad yourself, pat.”
“i better not be,” he mumbles, tightening his hold. “gave it everything i had.”
he nudges your nose with his, brushing soft kisses across your cheek, jaw, the tip of your nose.
“d’you need water?” he asks suddenly. “or somethin’? i can run down and get—”
you shake your head quickly. “just stay. please.”
he exhales slow, relieved, and tucks your head under his chin.
“ya know i’d do anything for ya, right?”
your throat catches a bit at that — because he says it so easily, like it’s obvious.
“i know,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest. “and i’d do anything for you too.”
his hand rubs soothing circles on your back, slow and warm. he’s still a little breathless, body soft and boneless against yours, but his voice is steady.
“ya ever need anything,” he says, “you just tell me. i mean it. even if it’s three in the mornin’ and i’ve a match the next day. i’ll be there.”
your heart swells painfully at the sincerity in his voice. you pull back just enough to kiss him again, slow and sleepy, and he hums contentedly into your mouth.
“stay here tonight?” you ask, already half-asleep.
“of course i will,” he says, voice quiet and certain. “m’not goin’ anywhere.”
you fall asleep in his arms not long after, wrapped in the soft, steady warmth of him, his heartbeat keeping rhythm against your cheek like a promise.
Arguing with Patrick Feely felt like standing on the edge of a cliff during a thunderstorm—one moment it was all wind and the scent of salt in the air, thrilling and alive, and the next you were being hurled into crashing waves below. It always started quietly, cautiously. Like two people trying not to wake a sleeping giant. But inevitably, one word—just one—would send everything spiraling.
You had been standing in the middle of his bedroom when it happened. The place was dimly lit, only the soft golden glow of the old lamp on his nightstand throwing pools of light on the deep navy walls. His guitar leaned lazily against the edge of the bookshelf, schoolbooks were strewn across the desk in his usual half-chaotic fashion. It smelled like sandalwood and something sweet—his cologne. Familiar, comforting, even when everything else felt sharp.
“You’re being crazy!”
There it was. The word. That word.
You froze. Your body stiffened like you’d just walked into icy water. You blinked once, then again, like if you did it enough times, the sting behind your eyes would go away.
He realized it the moment it left his mouth. His expression shifted, regret flickering in his dark eyes for just a second. But then, as always, pride got in the way.
“Oh, I see. Sorry for trying to be enough for Patrick fucking Feely,” you said, voice trembling like the air before a storm. You folded your arms tightly over your chest, more to keep yourself from shaking than anything else.
“Maybe stop trying so hard,” he snapped, tone sharp. “It’s suffocating. You’re suffocating.”
You flinched. Your lip trembled before you could stop it. “That’s mean, Pat. You’re being mean.”
“No, I’m not being mean. I’m being real,” he said, taking a step away, as if distance would soften the blow. “Ever since you came back from Dublin, you’ve been… different. I can’t deal with this right now. I should go.”
Oh, that’s how it is…
“Yeah,” you whispered, though your heart was roaring. “Yes, you should.”
He didn’t look at you again. Just turned, grabbed his jacket off the back of his desk chair, and left. The door slammed behind him, vibrating through your bones.
For a few moments, you just stood there, staring at the space he left behind. His scent still lingered in the air. His hoodie was still draped over the edge of the bed. There was an empty mug on the nightstand—he’d made you tea that morning. That version of him, the one who made tea and sang you songs when you couldn’t sleep, felt like a ghost now.
You dropped onto the bed, knees folding in, your back curling like a dying leaf. Then the tears came. Not the pretty kind. The ugly, heaving, choking kind. The kind that leaves your face blotchy and your chest hollow. You weren’t even crying over the fight—you were crying because you believed him. Because deep down, that small, cruel voice in your head had been whispering the same thing for weeks: You’re too much.
The next day at Tommen was a blur. The school looked the same, but everything felt different. The halls were filled with laughter and chatter, but it passed over you like smoke. You kept your head down, eyes fixed on the floor tiles like they held all the answers.
In class, you sat next to Shannon, who was practically glowing as she spoke about her weekend in Dingle with Kav. Her fingers twisted through her curls as she described the seaside cottage, the firelit dinners, the moonlit walks on the shore. You nodded along, offered smiles in the right places, but your mind was elsewhere. Stuck on that moment in Patrick’s room. That word. Crazy.
You didn’t look behind you, because you knew. You could feel him. That strange gravity Patrick Feely always carried—his stare burning holes in the back of your neck. But he didn’t approach. And neither did you.
The walk home was miserable. A thin drizzle coated the streets in a slick sheen, and the grey sky seemed to mirror your mood perfectly. The route along the canal was usually your favorite—lined with cherry trees and little stone benches—but today it felt too open, too exposed. Like the world was watching you unravel.
That night, sleep never came. You lay in bed staring at the ceiling, counting the rotations of the fan, your thoughts spiraling faster than the blades. You didn’t eat. You skipped your meds. You drowned yourself in schoolwork, hoping to quiet the noise.
But Patrick’s voice kept echoing.
The third day after the fight, something snapped. You grabbed your coat, pulled on his hoodie—you hadn’t been able to stop wearing it, no matter how much it hurt—and left your house with no real destination in mind. Your feet just… moved.
You ended up at the lake.
It was raining again. Not a drizzle—proper Irish rain, coming down in sheets. The kind of rain that soaked you through no matter how fast you ran. But you didn’t run. You walked slowly, letting the cold water seep into your shoes, your hair plastering to your face, your fingers trembling.
The lake was surrounded by trees, dark and wild, the kind that seemed to hold secrets. You’d come here with him before. Once, after a particularly bad anxiety attack, he’d brought you here. Sat you on a blanket, wrapped you in his arms, and talked about nonsense until you smiled.
Now you stood on the edge, arms wrapped around your own body, sobbing so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. “You said you’d never leave when it got hard,” you whispered to no one, voice raw.
“I didn’t,” came a voice behind you.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned.
The rain came down harder now, like the sky itself was falling apart. Cold water streamed down your back, soaking Patrick’s hoodie clinging to your frame, and yet you barely noticed. Every nerve in your body was locked on him.
Patrick stood just a few feet away, chest rising and falling beneath his drenched T-shirt, jaw tense, fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust his own body not to reach for you.
“I didn’t leave,” he said again, hoarse.
You blinked at him, raindrops mingling with the tears on your cheeks. “You walked out, Patrick. You let me fall apart. You let that word leave your mouth and then you just… left.”
“I know,” he whispered, as if even saying it caused him physical pain. “I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now. I’ve been carrying it around since I closed that fucking door. I wanted to turn around the second I left.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
His eyes searched yours, helpless and hollow. “Because I’m a coward. Because loving you means seeing parts of myself I don’t like. Because sometimes you look at me like I’m the only thing holding you together, and it scares the hell out of me. Because I didn’t think I deserved to be your person. Not when I couldn’t fix what was hurting you.”
“I didn’t ask you to fix me,” you said, voice cracking. “I just needed you to stay. Even if I was messy. Especially because I was messy.”
“I know. I know that now. And I am so—” he stepped forward, his voice breaking—“so sorry I made you think you weren’t enough. You’re not suffocating. You never were. I was drowning in my own fear and I lashed out like a bloody coward.”
Your bottom lip trembled, and you bit it hard to keep it from fully quivering. You hated how much you wanted to believe him. How even now, after everything, you still wanted to run to him and bury yourself in the comfort of his arms.
But he saw it—the flicker of hope in your eyes—and that’s all he needed.
He stepped closer. One step. Then another. Slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
You didn’t stop him.
“I miss you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I miss you so much it physically hurts. I miss your laugh. Your weird obsession with that ridiculous cardigan. The way you whisper my name when you’re half asleep. I miss us, and I know I don’t deserve to ask you to forgive me but—”
You reached out before he could finish.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, dragging him the final inch toward you until your foreheads touched. His breath hitched as he leaned into the contact, eyes fluttering closed.
“I hate how much I love you,” you whispered.
A single breath passed between you.
Then your lips crashed into his.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or pretty. It was desperate. Like kissing him was the only way to stop the ache in your chest. Like if you didn’t kiss him now, your bones might shatter from the weight of missing him.
He groaned into your mouth, one hand flying to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your soaked hair as he kissed you like he’d been starving. His other hand found your waist, pulling you tightly against him, like he couldn’t stand even a millimeter of distance.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips between kisses. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You kissed him again, harder, your hands framing his face. “You hurt me,” you whispered against his skin.
“I know,” he said, eyes red, voice barely holding it together. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. His breath hitched under your touch.
“I don’t want promises,” you said. “I just want you. Real. Scared. Messy. But here.”
“I’m here,” he breathed. “God, I’m so here.”
And then you kissed again slower this time. Painful in its tenderness. His lips moved like he was trying to memorize the shape of yours all over again, like every second he’d gone without you was being rewritten in that moment.
He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth. Your eyelids. Reverent. Apologetic. Devoted.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Even when I’m the worst version of myself. Even when you can’t see it. I love you.”
You let yourself fall into him completely, arms wrapping around his waist as he buried his face in your neck, holding you like he was afraid the wind would tear you from him if he let go.
And there, standing in the rain by the lake—two heartbreaks stitched together with saltwater and apologies—you knew you were choosing each other again.
taking advice from claire’s words, you decided to confront patrick. you were tired of just being his best friend, of just being a fuck buddy. you wanted something real. and if he couldn’t give you that, then that was that. but you needed confirmation for if that was your reality or not.
it was tuesday.
friday had been the fight.
saturday you had a hangover.
sunday you prepared yourself.
on monday, he annoyingly skipped school that day.
so on tuesday, you drove to his house before he had time to leave for school. you didn’t care how it looked— reckless, desperate. you were in love.
patrick came outside, car keys in hand and his bag thrown over his shoulder. he stared directly at you as he walked to his truck. “we need to talk.” you said, countering him as he went to the drivers side, you slammed shut his door when he opened it and you leaned against it, facing him.
“okay. talk.” patrick said, jaw tensing. “I don’t like your attitude right now, patrick. it’s not a good look on you.” you snapped. patrick smirked slightly. “is that what you wanted to say?” “no. it’s not.” you didn’t bother making a sarcastic remark back. you were just tired of it all.
and honestly, so was patrick.
“I can’t do this anymore, patrick. I can’t just be your friend while we have sex every week and then just turn around and act like everything is normal, it’s not! we pretend like we aren’t checking eachother out and acting like we can’t fucking smell the tension. I’ve been your best friend for years.” your voice cracked then. “it hurts that we’re doing this. that you don’t want anything else than just to have sex. I’m so inlove with you, patrick. I can’t—I” you pause, wiping your makeup free eyes— you didn’t bother to do it today. “I don’t know what to say to you to make you want me.”
“jesus christ…” patrick put down his bag and keys right there in the road. he pinned you up against the truck door, and he kissed you— really kissed you. it wasn’t the type of kiss he’s given you before that says “we need to fuck, now.” it was deep, soothing, like everything you wanted to hear from him in one simple action. his lips were soft as his kiss almost drugged you. your hands come up and slowly wrap around his neck, you felt yourself dizzy from how intimate this felt.
one of his hands cradled your jaw, the other explored your back and waist. when he pulls back, he looks so fucking soft. “I never said I didn’t want ya, nor did I say I never wanted anything more.” he whispers softly, his lips were almost brushing yours from how close he was. “you’re my best friend, too, love. and I’m sorry I’ve been such an eejit. I should’ve asked you out ages ago. you’re such a perfect fuckin’ girl. I was scared of messing things up with ya. I’ve messed up relationships before, and I don’t want that for you. you’re too fuckin’ special to me. but if ya want me, too. then I’ll try. for you, I’ll try.”
his words took the breath clean out of your lungs, you had to just stare at him for a moment. “you really mean that, patrick?” your voice was soft, barley a whisper. “of course I mean that, love.” you kissed him again, your hands sliding down from his shoulders to grip his shirt, your fingers fisted in his tommen uniform. he pulled back just a breath away. “and just to clear up your pretty little head, I love you too.” your poor heart melted, you were completely gone for the boy, and as that thought came, it was like he read your mind with his next words. “I’m completely gone for ya, I don’t even feel ashamed to admit it. you’re everythin’ I could want.” you sighed. “oh, patrick. I wish you could’ve told me sooner.”
“I know, baby…so do I. so do I. but we’re past that, and I’m gonna give you all I can. all I got. alright?” he says, stroking your cheek. “yeah. okay.” you smiled happily, and you kissed again.
୨ৎ
you were giggling against his lips on the way upstairs to his room. his family wasn’t home. and both of you didn’t give a shit to skip school now. the confession just a minute ago had you so happy all you wanted to do was stay with him now.
patrick was kissing you like he was fucking starved. he kept kissing you when his hands slid up behind your thighs and lifted you up. your legs automatically wrapped around his hips— along with your arms around his shoulders. patrick pushed open his door and then kicked it back shut with his foot when he stepped inside. he lays you on the edge of the bed on your back, he took his shirt off with one hand over his head. patrick then scooted you back and crawled over you, kicking off his shoes behind him.
he was kissing your neck oh so good, your hand flew to his hair and you moaned. “you’re so beautiful, you taste like a fucking sweet and you sound even sweeter. my lovely girl. jesus, how the fuck did I end up with that?” patrick pulled back and just stared at you for a second, his hand pushed back your hair from your face. “listen, baby. I wanna make real love to ya. nothing like we were doin’ before. this is real to me. I take you seriously. and I only want to do this now if you’ll be my girl.” he leaned down and brushed a soft kiss to your forehead. “yes. yes, of course, patrick.” you smiled at him. “alright, then. you’re my girl.” he smiled back.
as patrick kissed you, you had let your legs fallen open, and he was grinding slowly against you fully clothed, the friction was delicious. you couldn’t help the soft whines that left your lips. patrick reached back and unclasped your bra. your shirt had been discarded a minute ago. his hands come up and his thumbs circle your nipples— knowing your weak spots. that caused you to gasp and arch into his touch, your hands fell beside your head, accessing yourself to him. “patrick..” you whispered, and he gave your soft curves a firm squeeze before kissing you again as he reached down with one hand and undoes his belt.
once you we’re both fully naked, patrick lied you properly back on his pillows, he gets under the covers with you— the blanket pulled up to his shoulders.
he hikes one of your legs up. “look at you. pretty as ever.” he said lowly. patrick lines the thick head of his cock aganist your entrance, and glanced up at you as he pushed himself all the way inside of you, your hands flew to his back. he always stretched you so perfectly.
“you’re so tight— and oh fuck. you’re warm. goddamn, baby. I ain’t gonna last this time.” that made you laugh. he smirked and started to fuck you without warning. the bed was instantly rocking and the headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall. “oh..patrick, yes!” you cried, breathing heavily as he roughly fucked you into the mattress your back arching so your chests are touching. “fuck, baby. you’re squeezin’ me just right. holy shit.” he groaned, panting as well. his left forearm was over your head, his right hand was gripping your hip to go deeper inside of you.
you wrapped your legs around his hips then, making his cock sink deeper into your pussy. the head found your sweet spot, and you let him know. “pat, right there. mmm…god.” you cupped his face and kissed him, just feeling yourself get more wet once he moaned into your mouth. patrick repeatedly pounded your pussy, the sounds of skin and wetness filled the room— along with his grunts and your unfiltered moans, that is.
“I’m coming, I’m fucking coming.” he choked out, he let out a groan— and soon enough you felt him release himself inside of you, it made you come with him— the pleasure and pressure inside of you from him filling you up was too much. too good. heat spread through your body as you held his back and grinded your hips upwards, riding out the sweet relief.
“jesus, baby…” patrick panted. he pulls back and looked at your face. “you’re fuckin’ amazin’. I love you.” he said before his lips crashed onto yours.
a month later . . .
you’d never felt happier than you did now.
your relationship was full of love, life and happiness. this has been all you wanted with him, everything past you wished for. and you have that now.
“patrick!” you squealed, running up to him, your pink sundress flowing at your knees.
you guys had been playing around in his farms lawn all afternoon. he spun around to face you, he was in a white tank top and jeans. “oh shit!” he yelled, his arms flying out to catch you when you suddenly jumped into his arms. once he caught you off balanced; he fell backwards and you both went down.
you just laughed. and so did he— too damn happy and inlove to care about the green stains from the ground probably all over the two of you. “you’re somethin’ else, baby. yknow that?” he laughed, sitting up on his elbow. when you stayed ontop of him, your hands rested on his chest. “hmmm. you love it. you wouldn’t have it any other way.” he smiled widely— he looked really happy. so happy it made your heart warm. “hell nah. I really wouldn’t.” he whispers, and he lies back, pulling you with him and he kisses you.
“I’m so fuckin’ inlove with you. you’re everything.” he pulled back to look up into your eyes. “I love you, patrick feely. you’re my best friend.” you whisper, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “and I love you, darlin’. I’m gonna keep lovin’ you harder each day.”
thank you for reading my mini series! I appreciate all the love and feedback I’ve gotten recently, you guys are so sweet and it means so much to me.
@leftbyjb thank you again for giving me this request angel. your idea honestly helped me practice more on my writing and I thought it was very creative. I’ve had so much fun writing love me harder.
“ ours was a lethal combination of hard, angry love that seemed to withstand the test of time. because it just wouldnt give up. it wouldnt burn, it wouldnt die. her lips were an accelerant to the unquenchable flame inside my heart, and my body roared to life, responding to its mate “
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